


Tiramisu

by sugarby



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anthology, Bioshock infinite! au, F/M, FireWatch! au, Gen, M/M, Other, multiple scenarios, roommates au, tags possibly tbc, the100 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarby/pseuds/sugarby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In several, unrelated circumstances, Rhys has or is given opportunities to brighten up someone's day and be close to what they may not have wished for but needed in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The100! au

**Author's Note:**

> * 'Tiramisu' (while a dessert) apparently also carries the meaning of "pick/cheer me up". 
> 
> This whole project (if it can be called that, really. Not sure) is mostly a compilation of brief ideas I'm not taking any further, just to release from my system. I did plan, originally, to finish and post all the scenes _together_ in one long read but some became lengthier than others and _not everyone_ prefers long reads like me (plus, I've not yet finished this completely and it's nice to know I can always return and include more whenever). Mostly self indulgent, probably nonsense, too, and sometimes cringy, but if you give this a read and happen to enjoy this then thank you very much, and hopefully there won't be too many typos or other errors besides what I'm able to spot whenever I get round to proofreading.
> 
>  
> 
> Ah, Borderlands. What a riot of a game it is, really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man's on his way down to a planet that may or may not make a man out of him before a predictable death. Meanwhile, a woman from the ground below's looking to the stars with a hope...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too many nights ago, I just started writing [this](http://ssubby.tumblr.com/post/138314643270/tftbx100au) and I decided that, for someone who's unintentionally put off properly writing for a while, it wasn't so bad. 
> 
> Coincidentally, the new ep is on tonight _(...which I forgot, Haha. Well, I'm not enjoying S3 so far tbh)._
> 
> And I forgot each chapter demands a summary of its own. Yikes! I'll try my best.

\- Rhys | Exodus Shuttle -

 

 

Rhys, truthfully, has always liked the idea of going to the next planet. Of escaping the cold, black, emptiness that is space, and the strictly enforced laws on the space station that houses what’s left of humanity—and _it is very little_. Yet the low number of a remaining population doesn't receive mercy; whether it's a sneak or a hot-shot, there's a catch, a price to pay, a consequence that wipes clear any and all beliefs of freedom, salvation.

Of a _home_.

Helios is...alright, but not what they're seeking. It's not the kind of lifestyle that they want to permanently adapt to after the way they all lived before: cozily in four-walled apartment homes, without the grey and the tight metal and loose wires—the sliding doors and views from all the way up out here, though, are quite _cool_. People appreciate the higher-ups' attempts to make them feel...as safe as they can, but it's suffocating and it's _too_ safe, Rhys thinks, but doesn't completely dislike it as much as he pretends in front of superiors, flashing them wide smiles and shaking their hands, praising their steps in keeping people on the station alive. 

But _not_ everyone. Every so often, either months or years apart in rotation, unwilling people are subjected to a trip to the next planet, which, given lack of information on its status, is no safer than how superiors _used_ to deal with expendable employees and rule breakers, _by ejecting them out in to space_ —' _floating_ ', they call it. If or when Rhys is dead, it's not going to matter that he spent three years of his career _over-praising_ his boss and over-working 'till he saw the sun rise and stabbing colleges in the back just to get ahead in the company. It would've been different, _could've_ been if things hadn't gone south way before now; if the man named Hugo Vasquez hadn't stolen his promotion by ejecting a man named Henderson, the previous boss who received the overdone admiration from Rhys, out in to space. And it's not going to matter that Rhys' developing plan to get back at Hugo Vasquez may have even worked. It's why he's even on this shuttle in the first place, for "acting out of term" and whatever other rubbish Hugo fed to their superiors in his reports about it (because he needed a good excuse to ship his enemy of nearly four years off in to space, simply saying _"I've really wanted to for a really long time."_ wasn't going to sit well). And since Rhys' plans involved an accomplice, his best Vaughn has the seat beside him in the same boast—erm, shuttle, actually. The Exodus shuttle is moving through space on its course from Helios to their likely doom.

They may as well have been floated.

So they're here, now, sitting in a shuttle, with ninety-eight other expendables or rule-breakers.

One hundred of them. That's how many people get shipped off to the planet Pandora, their employment, and their lives, hanging in the balance, weighing on the success or failure of their unwilling expedition to a wild planet. But the higher-ups can care less; they suppose if anyone's going to be put at risk on an uncharted planet of being torched alive by psychos or stabbed by the claws of mutated ants, it's _not_ going to be _them_ but some easily-replaceable code monkey of some kind.

Vaughn's seated right next to him, clutching the straps of his seat-belt with such pressure, squeezing his eyes shut tight, praying they live through the bumpy journey alone. He's not so embarrassed, everyone and their neighbor knows what he's like in these kind of hectic situations involving his life and his death. He is surprised, though, by how quick Rhys was to stop screaming, with his fear of heights and the chance of death upon crash landing being issues.

That's all to do with Rhys keeping it internal, the screaming (and urges to vomit) torturing him from within his mind, _the low depths of his stomach_. He fends it off quite bravely behind a fist each time, and chooses to play it cool and comfort the both of them. "Man, I've thought about this for a long time, Vaughn. Leaving the station and living a fresh start on another planet."

" _Good_! That's _great_! But why not on _one of the Edens_?!"

"Be...cause," Rhys shrugs, a little unsure. "Hyperion enjoys a challenge?"

Vaughn sighs. "Pandora's more hell than a planet. Think of the monsters and all the psychos if the fact that we’re leaving all we know and love isn’t enough! I mean, we’re not cut out for this, Rhys— _no offence_.” Rhys nods along, agreeing and understanding (and only a little, tiny bit struck with some offence. He can barely catch his stun-baton in mid-flip without it hitting him in the face—and it’s always the face, whether it's with objects or people’s _fists—WHY_.) "Man, I’m gonna miss Yvette. And our lunches together, even if she never paid. And hasn’t paid us back.”

Rhys smiles, "Yeah, me too."  
  
"And I’m sure you’ll really miss those posters of Handsome Jack all over your office.”

“Uhhh...haha, let's—let’s focus on the positives, okay, buddy?”

“Okay. I’m _positive_ you’ll breakdown over it.”

Rhys frowns—no, he definitely pouts. "No I won't! He's...Jack's just—they were for motivation!" he declares in his defense. Then Vaughn snorts, hikes his spectacles up and says _'I'm not doubting that at all, bro'_ with such an unfair grin. It's not completely childish of Rhys to cross his arms and huff at the implication.

"Hey, it was never officially finalized by a consensus that he died. No one's seen or heard from him in almost a decade, right? Not since Grounders  _supposedly_ murdered him. Maybe...he could be, I mean— _what if_ he's still alive down there?"  
  
"No, no way." Rhys shakes his head, disbelieving. "If he was, people would know." They would have to. Wouldn't they? If one in one-hundred expendable employees from a big, famous company sent to an uncharted planet survives, it'll be generously spread across the media; that should be as obvious as the legend the survivor became nearly anywhere.  
  
Vaugh squints, " _Would_ they?"  
  
"'Course, buddy." Rhys sounds a little distant, his focus not solely on their discussion but mostly redirected to the bracelet on his wrist, the advanced device which means to read and deliver updates on his temperature, heart rate and etc. to the superiors and the rest on Helios.  
  
"Rhys, c'mon, it's _Handsome Jack_. We're talking...violent, confident, dangerous, ambitious, maniacal—"  
  
"I know, I know, but he's still just a man at the end of the day. Plus, his shuttle went down almost a decade ago, like you said."  
  
The argument over the time, and the unlikeliness of even a man like Handsome Jack surviving for so long on an unpredictable planet—most likely as dangerous as himse;f—puts some indication of defeat on Vaughn's face. "Okay...okay, bro, you could be right. I just... _ugh_ , this whole things sucks enough. And, like, seriously, I don't wanna have to look out for _more_ than skags. The usual Pandora terrors are enough to stop my heart, man!"  
  
"It'll be fine." Rhys lands his cybernetic hand on his friend's shoulder and smiles. "I've got your back, bro. Just think, this could be it for us—our chance. Screw being Assistant-Vice Janitor and doing some ass-hat’s pay-role. We may not be the best people, but we’re together and that's awesome. It'll be fine," he says again. " _We’ll_ be fine.”

Vaughn smiles. “Bro, totally. Thanks!"  
  
They conclude their conversation with a routine fist-bump, spending the rest of their way down to Pandora muffling their shrieks as best as they can.  
  
Rhys knows what he said. He wouldn’t call himself a liar because maybe they can actually make it and survive down there. Why not them? Why not the two nerds who never got the girls but always got the experience points on the master levels of games? It does seem unlikely, they're not even the second, third or fourth best people for a big, risky operation like this—it's only 'cause they got caught with their plan! But despite the odds against him, Rhys hopes the beginning of something meaningful is waiting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- Fiona | Pandora -

 

  
Fiona’s in the middle of playing around with her small, hide-away revolver gun when in the night sky she sees what looks like a shooting star. She wishes she can believe it’s actually just that, but she knows it’s not and that it’s more like a sign for an approaching complication: the Sky people, straight from their perch up on the orbiting station.

It’s not an every day thing to catch. No one has willingly touched the grounds of Pandora in a long time—so long it seems silly to think anyone might now. The Pandorans she calls friends or family haven’t needed to use their outdoor instincts and limited weapons (that are fine but low compared to the technology of the Sky people) for purposes past hunting animals for food. This could be the initiation of a massive war, depending on how many are coming down here, and why.  
  
One is enough to get the ball rolling.  
  
”Ugh, Sky people.” her sister standing next to her groans and remarks as she looks up at the same ‘star’ in the sky.  
  
“…Yeah,” Fiona agrees, some time after when she’s in control of herself again and stops showing a face of disbelief to her sister, who is in fact very right. A bit stubborn and slow to give books with bad covers a glimpse, but right. "What are the chances of there being another one of that "Handsome" guy? Think any of 'em coming here now are like that bastard who tried to enslave everyone on here?"  
  
"The megalomaniac? Maybe." says Sasha. "I'd never rule it out. But we can remind them not to step out of their bounds if they ever forget." she swings her gun around her body and over her so it comes under her arm, secure. She has a hand on it at all times. "Pandora, as sucky as it can be, is our home. We were here first. Pandora's not some big, dust-ball for the Sky people to play their twisted war games on."  
  
Fiona smiles, "You're right."  
  
"'Course, I wouldn't totally reject the chance to nab any weapons they leave spare. Would actually help a lot."  
  
"Trust you to have that on your mind."  
  
"Better us than them. I've heard they don't even really fight up there anyways. It’s all tests and experiments and...just…not involving actual weapons. They like to conserve, or whatever.”  
  
Fiona lets herself smirk, wanting in on this opportunity to mock, “Bet it’s probably just, like, lame finger-gun fights, or something shit.”  
  
Sasha laughs. “Hey, I’d take that bet and make a fortune."  
  
Fiona gives her sister a soft smile smile—(she’s at least trying to remain normal, as if she isn’t second guessing the unexpected arrival of the Sky People, which, to everyone else, will obviously be seen as a threat. And they have rights to).  
  
“Alright, time to go.” Sasha turns back and starts making her way up the hill they came down for a break, going back in the direction of the vast forest. “Felix has got a job for us before we all hunt again.”  
  
“Be right there.” Fiona says as Sasha goes, and when she’s gone the smile fades like smoke. Fiona’s eyes drift up to the sky again and she feels jealous; she’s spent most of her life on the ground she’s sitting on, of Pandora, but it’s never felt like home to her or her sister. They both want to travel, get off this planet someday and see more of the world, maybe discover who they were before hunters and con artists, who they belonged to before Felix to them in. It’s probably a long-shot, as what’s left of humanity is now divided between those who are on Pandoran grounds and the people living up in the sky, in space.  
  
She remembers what Felix and her fellow Pandorans  always say in regards to the Sky people, about how they won't let their planet be taken, how they were here first, how they won't start but will give and finish a war if need be. She sighs, imagining the strength and effort she'd be putting in to a long battle. Then she grins to herself a bit, confident of her many wins, and she rises off the hill, tipping her hat, shielding her face.

It's quiet as she listens to nothing in particular, staying in place a moment longer.  
  
She probably shouldn’t concern herself with it too much, but if she can have a single wish that isn’t about money then it’ll be for something to come and bring about an opportunity to her seemingly endless day-to-day life, where her only talent of talking to people until she wears them down feels like her greatest and only worth.


	2. Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys thinks he's pegged himself a pretty lovely apartment for his remaining college life, and then enters the "handsome roommate".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't sure when this was gonna be updated or where, in the list of scenes I've already got written, this one was gonna place. *shrugs* idk, it's got a #2 feeling when I see the title, and it was either this or between something with Vasquez or an Angel/Jack ft Rhys one that's on its way.
> 
> How's my Jack? Is he good? Hot? _Ahhh_ , well, I'm happy to have tried my best either way.

The chances of a college student, getting by on tuition fee and comforting assistance from friends here and there, landing themselves a nice, lovely apartment off-campus are too slim to imagine plausible. And Rhys doesn't know how he manages to swing it, but he does. He'd say it's luck, that he was at the right place at the right time, but the wealthy, somewhat generous on this rare occasion but _slightly more_ sadistic landlord can say more, if ever he offers more than a _' **Hmph**. You like the apartment, don't you? Well don't bother yourself with the details on whose grandparent had to die for you to get this place, or what level of immaturity **John** has sunken to **this time** to have the last one flee.'_

John? The last one? And what dead grandparent?! Rhys' eyes were little far from saucers at the time of the conversation over the phone.

_'He's not inclined to make demands nor complain about **my** decisions, and I'll mention this to Jack again later. Rhys, young man, you never mind about it. So long as you keep up with your rent, you have permission to get sorted and get comfortable. Welcome to the building.' _

And that was that.

The landlord's—Mr. Harold Tassiter—last words replay in Rhys' head up until he and his belongings are standing right outside. Fishing out keys, he unlocks the door, and the widespread sunshine from the beautiful day outside gleams over every appliance, furniture and floorboard, polishing a bright, new, _lovelier_ world.

It takes Rhys about four days to get all of his things settled in to their new spots around the place.

It takes two additional days for the mysterious roommate to show up, their long absence once interpreting their existence as ghostly, fictional.

It's a Saturday morning and Rhys' is contently eating a bowl of cereal, comfortably cross-legged on the couch, still in his pyjamas, watching re-runs of cartoons from his childhood that he and his best friend bonded over(—the nostalgic, earlier, happier days, before essays and deadlines and responsibilities). He knew about having a roommate when he expressed interest in the apartment time ago, and when he asked about them Tassiter didn't deliver much past an indecision between two names—John, Jack—and his own biased perception, painting the roommate in harsh, dark colors. Rhys listened but he's always preferred to meet people in person and make up his own mind about them.

But, in this case, the landlord's slandering description on the mysterious roommate isn't completely unjust.

The roommate comes in, a little over ten in the morning, in layers of clothing topped off with a black, leather jacket. He'd be on route to his bedroom if not for the stranger on his couch—the sluggish, heavy strides across the room halt only three steps away from the door. Every day, he'll walk about the apartment knowing everything is the same, where it usually is and how it usually looks. Today, there's a clear difference, the oddity that is Rhys.

They are silent as they observe each other, one anxiously, the other questionably, surprised, _not_ happily. Not a word is uttered over the montage of sound effects coming from the tv that are like laser guns and explosions and aliens trying to escape police men chasing after them. Rhys deflates a little inside at the episode he's missing, not any closer to caring that he's already seen it so many times before; it's still good—much better than awkward first encounters.

The guy sighs through his nostrils and deep-pockets both hands in to his black leather jacket. "And who are you, Princess?"  
  
Rhys' lips seperate to speak his name, out tumble milk and soggy pieces of lucky charms cereal for a substitution answer with a messy, almost indecipherable wish-wash.

He forgot he was chewing. Holy hell.

"Oooooohhhhhhhhkay." _Shit_ , thinks Rhys. "You're 'wheesh', is it? Sorry—I dunno, but that was disgusting. I _do_ know that."

Rhys wipes across his mouth with a sleeve of his pyjama shirt, totally embarrassed but willing to brave through it to introduce himself at last. "Sorry about that! I'm Rhys."

"Rhys. _Rhys_?"

"Yeah." Rhys nods, maybe a bit too fast, but he's proud of himself, that he actually said his name with enough clarity. It's an unconventional name that's earned him a lot of grief practically since birth _without_  failure to consume food. "You, you must be Jack."

"You've never seen me before, Pumpkin, but I must be."

True, but. Rhys eyes him. "...So you're not—"

"Gimme a sec, I forgot what I wrote on here this morning..." The guy raises a hand and squints at the palm. Rhys is speechless, looking awestruck. The guy rolls his eyes and puts his hand back inside a pocket. "Jesus, Cupcake. I'm _kidding_ , you idiot! _Yes_ , I'm Jack."

"Oh, great." Rhys timidly waves. "Hello. Jack."

Jack nods to him. "Rhysie. So, wanna tell me what the heck you're doing in my apartment, kiddo?"

"I'm—"

"On second thought, don't bother, Chicken-legs." Jack holds up a finger to shush him while he takes out an expensive-looking phone and dials. Rhys repeats the nickname in confused mumbles, hoping to God it's not going to stick. Chicken-legs?! _Really_? 

 _"What is it now, John?" a_ n older man's voice sounds irritated before the conversation's begun. Rhys recognizes it to belong to their landlord.  

"Mr Tassiter, Sir, it's _Jack_. There's a gangly kid eating baby food on my couch. In my apartment. Do I, like, am I now supposed to be the owner of very tall adopted kid or something? I couldn't keep my hamster, when I was a kid, alive. Little guy looked dead or he was hibernating, I dunno—"

"No, Jack, that's your roommate."

"My roommate?"

"Your roommate, yes."

"You're kidding."

"I'm _not_. Just because you often enjoy monkeying around, doesn't mean the rest of us have to fall to such a level of immaturity. You heard what I told you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did but I just don't want it to be true. Why? I mean, Sir, you know I requested to live alone. I'm a big boy, I can handle myself. I don't appreciate a total stranger coming in here and changing things, trying to establish rules or something, eating my food, hogging the remote when I wanna watch TV just 'cause they'd rather watch some cliche drama or, I dunno, Dolphins give birth on some long-haul documentary than someone bleed all in a hospital. On last week's episode, someone sliced this guy's neck wide open! _Ohhh_ , man, how people were screaming. It was such a—"

" _Jack_." Tassiter strictly interrupts again, tired. "It's business. It's more money. And, frankly, I don't care about what you want as much as you expect me to just because you work for me. If you're uncomfortable then, by all means, find another building to live in. Find some other company who needs a little code-monkey like you. Or here's an idea, why not go and pay your grandmother a visit?"

There's silence on Jack's end, a shadow of angst in his expression.

Tassiter hums satisfactorily. " _Didn't think so_. Now don't waste anymore of my time. Focus on your studies and keep your grades up, Jack, or we'll see if I can't fire you before your next smart remark. And finish the assignment I gave you _a week ago_."

"Yes, Sir."

Tassiter gladly ejects from the conversation. Jack struggles to maintain control with his grip on his phone; he wants to crush it as much as he wants to hurl it at someone's head then bash them to death with it. Tassiter's used to going on like everything Jack says is incessant complaining. If it is, the employer himself is to blame, for being a _massive dick_.

Jack says so, willing himself to sensibly put away his slick, expensive-looking phone in a pocket inside the leather jacket. "Son of a taint. What a massive, major dick."

Rhys salutes from out of nowhere to his irritated roommate with a grin, "Major Dick!"  
  
"... _What_?!"

O- _Oh_. Rhys ducks a little, intimidated. He braves an explanation, still. "I-It's just a little...thing a friend and I do when an authority term comes up, usually for an insult. Like "Captain Buzzkill" or just...y'know."

"Sorry but are _we_ friends?"

Rhys shakily moves his head. "N...N-No, it was just—I was just trying to..." lighten the mood, he wants to say but feels it's pointless to now. He assures that he won't be any trouble— _promises_ , because in his twenty-something years of living he's confident enough to say he's been a delight to other people and is quite considerate.

"Don't lie to my face, you idiot."

"I'm not! I'm a—I'll be a great roommate."

Jack snorts. "Oh yeah? You seem _real_ sure there, Cupcake."

"I'm a cool mate to room with, M-Mu...Muffin...?"

Jack covers his face with a hand and he laughs outright. Rhys looks away, red in the face. "Listen, you look...I mean, you seem like you can be cute." Jack says. "But here's the thing: Jack doesn't have roommates."

"Why?"

"'Cause people are annoying to deal with. What's the point? They're nice one minute but then they're turning in to back-stabbing, dick-bags the next. Or complete weirdos. _Or_ they eventually let you in on the fact that you were never really anything to them and that you were just...a mark, or something. Whatever."

"Uhh...

Jack is serious, "People are assholes Rhys. Myself included."

"...O-Okay?"

"That's not—I'm not saying I'm not a cool guy, though. Hell. Fuck, I'm friggin' awesome. But you and me, we're like...err, well, yadayadayada, blah blah, two opposing forces or something. Excuse me, I backed out of majoring in science or physics or whatever. Basically, what I'm saying is—"

"You and I can't be roommates."

"Exactly. You're a smart cookie. Great."

" _But we are_ roommates."

"Ohhh boy. Look, Kiddo—"

"It's _Rhys_." says the pyjama-clad college student, suddenly realizing his own-worth, that he can possibly bring about a whole new world to Jack for the better. "I get that you're used to living on your own because you're cynical and, and, yeah, people can be dicks. But people can also be reliable and loyal and very cool! And...I'm prepared to show you, Jack, that I'm cool. I won't steal your food; I got a label maker for Christmas once and I use it religiously on things I want sole ownership of." he's had too many mornings of his neighbors, Fiona and Sasha, letting themselves in to his house and eating all his snacks and leftovers. "I can compromise as much as you want but I do have a few nitpicks about the tidiness of a room and bathroom routines, picking up dinner—"

Jack, from the kitchen area, nods along. "Uh huh, yep. You done?"

"Jack, c'mon—"

Jack takes himself across the room to his bedroom, walking in and slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't give much on their status but Rhys is convinced now that, as friendly an impression he tried to make, he failed with his assurance, and in consequence the only kind of impression being made is the one belonging to his roommate: strong. commanding. decisive. unpredictable. mysterious, and so in that case _alluring_. Murderous, like he could go on a spree of kills right now with all his rage; Rhys would, obviously, come first, he believes, looking back over his shoulder at the closed bedroom emitting a heavy 'do not disturb vibe' not far from his own bedroom.

The day continues on.

In the comings and goings of Jack around the apartment, to the kitchen or the bathroom, or just to pop out somewhere and come back, Rhys keeps attempting to establish something civil between them Jack doesn't make any real effort to do the same. He talks, a lot. Mostly in elaborate plans for people and he really likes to go off-topic unless he's stopped and brought back. He seems like he kind of needs the life of solitude more than he wants it, like whatever or whoever's gotten to him has really done a number on him.

He thinks he hides it behind mocking laughs, dirty jokes, threats, over-consumption of unhealthy snacks—like a packet of cheap pretzels, which he hates but crushing them between his teeth reminds him, apparently, that he can always get rid of the things he doesn't like. He explicitly reveals this to Rhys in-coincidentally with a direct eye contact that lasts and chills Rhys inside. He's _thinking about him_. None of this is fair to Jack, it seems. And Tassiter's not on his side even though he's his employer (morally just because he'll enjoy siding with anyone against Jack, to give him a harder time. And Rhys doesn't find _this_ to be fair; couple shown personality traits aside, one black, sexy leather jacket and sexy hair doesn't ultimately determine someone to be as bad a person as they seem).

Jack's playing an online FPS game when Rhys last tries to communicate. Maybe Jack's busy concentrating on head-shots when he doesn't answer, it can't only be that he's choosing to ignore the taller man when he sits down next to him and keeps talking. At some point, he stops when Jack starts furiously mashing on his keyboard to reprimand his gaming partner who just totally let him down:

 

 

> << Tim, wth?! is2g, ur gettin replaced.
> 
> >> sorry, Jack!
> 
> << when the next match starts, stand in front of the enemy team and let em shoot ur head off.
> 
> >> but jack they're twice my lvl w means I'll be demoted! right? I'll lose my rank and go straight to the bottom! I don't mean to sound unsupportive I SWEAR but I just...it really might not be a good idea, y'know? Surely there's a better way?!
> 
> << yh, there was. for u to wake the fck up and play with ur head in the game, not up ur ass. What, you doubting my plan because you think I'm stupid?
> 
> >> no but PLS JACK
> 
> << Timothy, I just took a friggin' bullet to the skull because you weren't watching my back. You went and got yourself shot 'cause you got caught up trying to do MY JOB and be the hero, trying to flank the team leader before I,  _your_ leader, gave you the friggin' go-ahead, you colossal idiot. I died, Tims. Do you not get that? I just got _fucked_ because. Of. You. Now you don't want to help me out? You don't wanna rectify your mistake and come out like a Goddamn legend? You really sound like a dick-bag right now.
> 
> >> ...sorry, Jack. I'll do it.
> 
> << Good man. Start her up again.

Rhys is quick to slide down the couch, away from Jack. He leaves trying to start a conversation.

He compromises—that's what he calls it, thinks it ought to be seen as because not everyone will be willing to do it (especially for someone as unbelievable as Jack. There can be things going wrong in his life that Rhys isn't aware of, but he's not going to share any time soon, so it's whatever). Rhys spends the afternoon portion of his Saturday at a local library, getting a head start and prepping for his Monday early class (he tells his roommate this when he's ready to set off and Jack snorts but says nothing else. Rhys bites his tongue on letting slip a curse, he clenches the strap of his ruby colored satchel.  _Un-be-lievable_ ). He hopes that in the mean time, Jack will calm and adapt to the idea of having a— _yes_ —roommate.

He comes back when the library closes. Being the ambitious young man that he is ('and a bit of an over-achiever' best mate Vaugn will say and Rhys will argue), he becomes so invested in his textbooks and topics expecting to be covered he let the time fly right over his head. He flushes and thanks the librarian who taps him on the shoulder and lets him know she has to close up, and he sets off for home, hoping it's to a less peeved roommate.

Sounds that are loud and heavy and energetic, and sound a lot like a group of people jumping and hollering about the place, reach him from within the elevator as it opens and he's stepping out from down the hall. It confuses him, at first, and has him curiously leaning his head in some directions to determine where it's coming from. He starts to walk along the hall, getting closer to his apartment at the end, hearing the sounds more and clearer—shadows and lights dancing coming through from beneath the door, too.

Standing right outside the apartment door, he realizes that on the other side is another whole new world but not much different to a club. The predicted mass of people inside carry on with their cheering and jumping, stumbles from one place to another with a drink in their hands, and Rhys can hear the unmistakable wild harmonica of the hit classic _Chaka Khan_ song playing at a volume loud enough to make Rhys indecisive about dancing along or covering his ears.

So, a party.

And somehow, already, Rhys knows it has Jack written all over it.

Everything in this scene is like the set of a stereotypical pop-club music video: a montage of colors whipping across the apartment, food and drinks monopolizing the kitchen counter tops, a DJ's spinning tracks behind everyone, and bottles among bottles and cans among cans of influential beverages. Jack's basking on the couch between two attractive women, dark shades on, feet up on the edge of the coffee table. He's _over-selling_ this.

"What the hell is going on?..." Rhys asks out loud, looking horrified, eyes like saucers again in a once-around and when they land on the man behind it. "Jack, you didn't!"

Jack cheers for his arrival. "Heeeey, Rhysie! Everybody, guys, say hell to my roommate Rhysie over here!" and the crowd of party-goers obey, cheering together _'HI, RHYS!'_  before the party horns comes back with praises to heighten the volume of the music.  


_'Baby, baby when I look at you, I_ _get a warm feelin' inside'_  
_'There's something 'bout the things you do th_ _at keeps me satisfied~'_

"Jack! JACK!" Rhys calls again.

"Aww. Is it too loud for ya, Pumpkin? My bad." Jack says but doesn't look anything close to sorry.

Rhys' eyes scan around again. They flash to the bowls of dry food, flashy clothes, strobe lights, the faces of all these strangers. And he thinks he's going to sleep tonight with the catchy rhythmic harmonic reminiscing in his ears in place of text he highlighted to memorize. "Jack, why?! This is INSANE! You can't— _you can't_ spontaneously decide to throw a party!"

A brow of Jack's rises, amused and daring. "Aww, can't I, Kiddo? 'Cause it looks like that's exactly what I've done."

" _Don't_ call me 'kiddo'." Rhys stresses _again_. "You are just as much a college student if this party's everything to go by. Do you even own textbooks?" that reminds him, he doesn't exactly know what Jack actually majors in. He's walked about the campus and passed Rhys' classroom like, once? Four times this month? Rhys won't be surprised if he finds Jack loitering on the 'undeclared' list—job at Hyperion or not. And oh, Rhys is a little jealous at that because _Christ_ , when's Atlas going to get back to him on that Summer internship?

"Wow. What a _major_ —" Jack has the _audacity_ to steal Rhys' harmless salute, "—Buzzkill someone's being.

Rhys shakes his head, mouth agape in disbelief. "Don't! Don't take my thing and use it against me! What about the neighbors? We're gonna get complaints!"

"I'm not a complete inconsiderate asshole, Rhys." Jack says seriously. Rhys sighs, relieved, fooled that the matter's been taken care of. "Half of the people in here are the neighbors. There's Tammy, Tiffany, Tara—they're triplets. And here's Phoebe, Rick, Josh, Katy, Serah, Ashley—" Rhys waves his hands to stop the track of names he didn't all hear over the loud cheers at someone turning the music _up_ —for goodness sake! So, really? Jack's take on being considerate means handing out invites, giving people a chance to partake in this craziness rather than be reasonable and try to shut it down?

Jack rolls eyes at the aggravated, stuck-up roommate. "You're killing the good vibe I got going here. Grab a drink, grab a girl—hell, I don't care, grab a dude if that's what you're in to." _'_

 _It's not...entirely'_ , Rhys thinks, standing with a sudden lack of confidence, like he's being seen through, transparent. "Jack, I know what you're doing but just stop it, okay? You're going to shut this party down  _now_ or else...or I'll—"

Jack takes of his shades and sits up and Rhys feels the room down to a level of seriousness and danger. The music carries on, the people still move, but things are getting dark real fast, warning signs are running along Rhys' skin as goosebumps. Jack straightens up and gives a single, strong tug on his jacket with a single. "Err, or _you'll_ _what_ , Princess? What—what _exactly_  are you gonna do to me  _if I don't stop_?"

Rhys hates to admit it but Jack's got him there. Rhys surveys the room for a chance of escape. There are none except the way he came, the cowards way out. Jack's eyes never leave him, waiting. Rhys weighs his options and they all end badly—with him, his blood, a hospital, err.

Jack stares, waiting for an answer—or rather _daring_ an answer to be given. Rhys gulps. He can't be sure how to handle the unpredictable. Everything's a war with Jack if things aren't going by his design, and he's already winning this battle. 

Jack snorts. He saw the bluff a mile away, but he does the uncharacteristic thing and has _mercy_. "Alright, okay." He leans back in to the couch, resuming comfort, and lifts his arms high up and spreads them out to gesture to everything that's going on around them. Rhys' eyes obediently stay on him, entranced. "You wanna _grow a pair_  and stick it out with me? Wanna try and stop the  _greatness_ that _is me_? Fine, we can have at it. But you better understand somethin' here, _kiddo._ It might say on paper that you're my roommate, but I'm _Jack,_  I'm _Goddamn Handsome, a_ nd I'm fuckin' King up in here, baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I know. I know, okay. But just imagine: Jack in black, leather. I think it's HOT. I'm so glad I could finally get myself one, too. Uhh, irrelevant but—d-did I mention yet, haha, Jack Rockin' a leather jacket.
> 
> High-five to anyone who knows where Rhys' saluting is a reference from.


	3. Firewatch au #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer this year is massively different from what Rhys planned—forcefully sent down to assist in observing and protecting a forest belonging to an uncharted planet, where a mouthy woman, an unconventional hero and his daughter, and the interesting wildlife are now his new means of socializing. 
> 
> Okay, no, that's a lie; Rhys _had no_ plans for this Summer beforehand.
> 
> Fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting change of plans here: I was working to release this in a single, lengthy one-shot form in this collection, but _as it is_ a collection (and since I haven't yet fully finished this au as much as I've got all the notes and plans down) I decided earlier today that it might be nice to post little parts of a whole thing at a time. So yeah, there'll be more to come :)
> 
> Wasn't sure when I was gonna update again and it wasn't even gonna be with this au yet but I felt relieved enough after giving my room a bit of a clean. I haven't played Firewatch myself but seen two Let's Playthroughs. Enjoy~

 

 

**Day 10**

 

 

"Admittedly, I'm kinda taken aback by you, Rhys."  
  
  
In the comfort of his watch-tower, Rhys leans back in his chair, one foot bracing against the edge of the desk as he admires the collection of nature knick-knacks and other oddities he's collected in the short span of time he's been out in a vast forest. The large, surrounding glass of the tower gives him a glorious view of the horizon, where it seems like the person confessing surprise is—further away and past its stable mountain rather than right practically beside an ear.

 

Rhys' thumb presses in to the side of his radio, "Because I'm cute _and_ incredibly good company to keep?" he teases. "Like a bargain, package deal?"

 

" _No_. " she snorts. "I mean because an _oxygen-deprived lame-case_ like you—who lives up in space on a station—hasn't lost his mind down here yet. Pandoran air and it's special wildlife not hitting you in the right places?" 

 

"Uh, if by "special" you mean "unimaginable horrors from hell", and by "right places" you mean where my heart and bladder are, then afraid no. I'm a _man of steel_ , lady." he lifts an arm to flex, knowing he can be seen from the parallel watch-tower, distance not much of a problem where a technology-advanced binocular is concerned.

 

"A bee stung you the other day and you _cried_."

 

"I did not!...I—It, it just hurt a lot, okay?!"

 

She laughs and the sound is a climb of ascension and descent in volumes—chortling, she is, finding so much humor in this man's self-justification that feels _implausible_. "Geez, Rhys. Someone should call the _whaaaaaaa_ mbulance out for you."

 

Rhys' tongue swipes across his bottom lip, in preparation. He aims to sound and feel like the final word is _his_ this time. "Okay, alright, that's it. Strike one." But it's never the final world with Fiona.

 

"Ohh, pulling out the stick in our ass and using it as a backbone, are we?"

 

"There's only so much ridicule and damage to pride a man can take, Fiona."

 

"Luckily you're a good distance from a man." she starts to want to let out another chortle but clips it behind a bit of her lip becoming a grin.

  
Rhys throws out two fingers in front of him to present to the window, "Strike two!"

   
"Rhys. Hey, Rhys." she calls all calm and hushed all of a sudden. Her colleague, wondering and concerned, asks _'what?'._ For a time. she keeps quiet on her end, so much it makes Rhys think she's not even there anymore. Then in a whisper, with a grin emerging, "...Your cheap haircut sucks."

  
"Ohohoho!...No, you didn't." Rhys is utterly shocked—his face says it all: widened eyes, mouth agape, vision between glancing up at his hair and glaring through his window. She's dangerous, she's something dark, she's downright mean, like a big-sister or a bully. Rhys shakes his head, and when he throws out his hand to the window again its with an additional finger. "Strike three, Fiona!"

  
"So you can count up to that many. Very good, Rhys." her tone, which she uses on people _much less than half_ their age, and an exaggerated gleeful gasp of unfairly steals away from her colleague a chuckle he doesn't want to reveal. She's mocking him, for God's sake and not even subtly! She just has to be funny with her methods, doesn't she?

It's not fair, this whole Summer has been forced upon him like the stern expression he wears now. "Okay, you asked for it, Fiona. Hang on to your butt, I'm coming over!" he tells her, and she laughs and slips in the fake-plan to "lock the door and all the windows and hide the kids". Rhys makes a dramatic show of it, rising slowly up from his chair, his limbs shaking from the exaggerated strength, the fury. Then, when he's standing and sure he's doing a fine job of glaring at her from all the way across what feels and looks like the entire horizon, he plonks himself back down.  


Neither of them were falling for his act anyway.  


"Having a back-bone made from that stick up your ass?" she says. "Yeeahh, it's _not really_ doing much for you."  


"Shut up." Rhys huffs.

  
So this has been their summer so far: nestled up in their own watch-towers—(their ' _home away from home_ ')—looking and listening out for the disastrous, bantering and giving each other shit between. Rhys tries with his comebacks and manages to _salvage_ himself some times, but Fiona goes on as if it's a sport; no one bests her. Although Rhys reckons his odds are better on days when she's engrossed in the latest puzzle or short story, or when she's worn down by writing reports and can't find enough energy to carry on with the back and forth (but has just enough to keep lifting her bottle of beer to her lips. She seems cool and sensible when she drinks it, but vulnerable as well, as if she's exposing something that, if taken, destabilizes some parts of her). Soon they settle and she moves on to talk about how peaceful the forest is today. She watches the trees bristle and lean against the breeze, watches how the sky sails along in an endless stream of blue and whites. It's calming. Wonderful to view. Things like this remind her why she's happy she's out here doing this—and the money.

   
She says, "Funny. No fires or shit-faced teens since the other day." she shrugs, a moment of thought as to _why that might be_ unsuccessful. She wings it, guessing. "Kids must be...I dunno, Maybe a bunch were on their way here but finally understood there's other shit they can be doing hat's _legal_ , still considerably fun _and_ _not_ a pain in the ass to deal with."

  
"Yeah. Not that it's a good thing, but who knows when we'll see a reenactment of "Ferocious Fiona"?"

  
She frowns, like he rightly imagined she would at the name of the recent forest fire. Rhys counts his blessing, thankful to be a good distance away from her, otherwise she'd punch him in the throat or something. " _Hey_ ," she says in a warning tone. "We agreed not to call it _that_."  


Rhys does nothing to mask his grin, no hand nor thinning of his lips hiding its blatant reveal. "Oh no, _no_. I _recall_ you threatening to rearrange my face just before I reminded the both of us that you wouldn't leave the comfort of your tower—where there's a vast supply, I'm sure, of booze and chocolate—just to deal with an"oxygen-deprived lame-case" like me." he's a bit smug saying this but he's not wrong; not once in the last ten days has Fiona left her tower and dealt with a situation herself when she's had the authority and been in the position to tell Rhys to go in her place. One situation includes the recent fire, as ferocious and hot as the woman Rhys took pleasure in naming it after—Fiona's fault, really, for insisting over a beer that they name it, saying it's kind of like a 'tradition'.

  
Fiona groans all over the place, the irritation echoing a bit through the receiving end of the radio. Rhys soaks up his victory with closed eyes, leaning back in his chair with a foot up on the edge of the desk again. He basks in the warmth and glow of the sun above and the day moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, though, how good is Firewatch? Simplistic art but it really works, and the whole dialogue between the characters is entertaining.


	4. Firewatch au #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys' sleep is interrupted in the night so he can go out to do a job with the last person he'd want to do _anything_ with—the unnamed man who appears at the last minute, as unhinged as he acted, would've been preferable.
> 
>   _"Thanks, Fiona, so much."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk, wasn't gonna post the next part to the fw! au this soon but I suppose it's alright. Happy to have another part out :)

 

_Day 17_

 

  
"Rhys? Hey, Rhys, wake up!... _Shit_. Can't you hear me?! Is your radio even on? Dammit. _Rhys_ , if you can hear me then wake up right fucking now _please_ , God-damn-it." is apparently Fiona's best way of 'asking' her college to slip out of sleep in the dead of night for whatever task she has for him. Knowing her, it'll be predicted to be harsh or mean or just unorthodox, but there's irritation and exhaustion in her voice, impatience, desperation as if she's about to lose her wits.

 

Rhys wishes he were _incapacitated_ to a degree of being able to get away with _plausible_ ignorance. No offence to Fiona but she must love her own voice, must love being the boss of the sap placed under her. He's groggy, yawning, turning one way with his pillow tightly compressed against an ear, and still he can hear her clearly in the middle of the calm evening. With a huffed sigh, eyes kept closed, he grabs his radio he knows he left on the table beside his bed, presses a thumb to it and holds it near, "You're _delightful_ , let me tell you, Fiona. _Everyone_ wants to wake up to your voice, honestly."

 

"Shut up." she says, then, "Look out your window." she asks and feels like she waits for nearly forever for Rhys to clamber out of bed and stumble over to the window with her proper coordination on the location of what's caught her interest. "There, do you see it? Colors, smoke. God, quite frankly, I'm surprised you can't hear 'em." she's talking about the fireworks Rhys' eyes are squinting to adjust to bearing, their entities slightly burning his retinas.

 

"Y-Yeah?" Rhys isn't completely sure, only able to see so much through half-shut eyes. But he sees enough, the more awake he becomes as he rubs at the sleep in his eyes. "No, yeah, I can see them."

 

"Good."

 

Rhys waits for her to say something else about it but she doesn't. "So...that's it? You woke me up—interrupted a nice dream about a generous promotion—to see fireworks with you? How romantic."

 

"What if one of those things starts a fire?!"

 

"Oh, Ferocious Fiona two?"

 

"I swear to God, Rhys!"

 

"Okay, Okay...Ooooo _oohhhhkaaa_ aaay," he tells, to calm her, but on the third repeat another yawns escapes his mouth, strong enough to ascend him on tip-toes and for his arms to raise like angelic wings, his cutely-designed pyjama shirt riding up on his stomach. He mildly forgets that Fiona can likely see a patch of stomach flesh from where she is with her advanced binoculars. "So that's it? Can I go back to sleep now, _Boss_?"

 

" _Hell no_ , idiot!" she snarls, and Rhys should've known, _it's Fiona_. She has more to raves on about now, and all. "And don't you hear that?!..." Funny how she asks him that when he failed to hear the fireworks in the first place. If the pause is chance for him to lend an ear and listen to the supposed additional sound, she'll have to give him more than half a _second_. "Music! Music and fireworks, and if we sit on our asses any longer, fire! The bunch of kids I fabricated the other day must've turned up and now they're trying to mess with the forest—tryin' to mess with _me_!"

 

"Fionaaaaa," Rhys pleas. He turns his head to look at his bed, where the top sheets are overturned and crumpled but the sheets underneath stand a chance of still being warm. Sleep sounds too good to pass up, especially at (he checks the clock nearby)...seven minutes past four in the morning. Good Grief, _no_. "Maybe it's nothing. They're kids; kids like music, a-and, and, and fireworks. Okay?..." he swallows, nervous a bit. He's desperate and they both know; he barely believes his own words, he knows she barely believes him, too, the effort not all there 'cause he's tired. "

 

"No, it's _not okay_." she says on the contrary. "Rhys, I come out here every Summer to do this job so I can escape loud, obnoxious, disrespectful kids." here Rhys remembers that Fiona educates children in a classroom for a living, as hard as it is for him to imagine (but it works, she loves to tell him what to do, so.) "And now you're here too, and I'm your superior until you're gone. So I want you to actually wake _the fuck_ up, throw on a pair and fucking deal with this!"

 

Whoa, Rhys thinks, she really isn't messing around tonight. Maybe she was sleeping, too, and got woken up by the fireworks. Maybe she even had a debate of her own, about going down there and handling it herself, but then thought ' _nah, fuck it, I'll let Rhys deal with it instead. He doesn't need the required amount of hours of sleep like everyone else, he's from outer-space and it's always night up there_ '.

 

That makes little to no sense, but she'd stick with it.

 

Rhys can't argue with her. He sighs as he begrudgingly slips on his coat over his pyjamas. "Okay, okay. But what about Rakks? Skags? It's always the idiot wandering in the forest _alone_ who dies first!"

 

"I've sent someone to go with you, you big baby. In fact, I think I see him waiting outside your tower."

 

Rhys stops what he's doing a minute to say, "Whoa, that was fast." legitimately impressed. He pulls up the coat's zip. "Thanks, Fi." she replies in the command for him to be quick and to be safe, which is a surprise because it sounds as if she genuinely cares about him. He's about to thank her but then, of course, she include how his not dying will be a "massive load-off. That way I don't have a shit-ton of paperwork to fill out." Rhys grabs hold of a flashlight, clicking the button in and out, on and off. "Great. Great. That's...you're— _thanks_ , Fiona, so much."

 

She has the _indecency_ to laugh. But then, when she calms somewhat, she does actually say something appropriate. Nice, even. "But seriously...Rhys, you better come back in one piece. Lame-ass bunny pyjamas and all."

 

Rhys tugs at a corner of the clothing set, "They're clouds, actually."

 

" _Oh_ , _I do_ apologise." she says snootily.

 

"My clouds and I will consider that "apology"." Rhys smiles, and she smiles back, if only a little, her happiness plaguing by concern. Rhys assures her, a thumbs up to the window that he knows she can see. "I'll radio you now and again to let you now how I'm getting on."

 

"Yes you fuckin' will." is all she says, then ends the conversation on her end first. Things go quiet between them, then Rhys notices it's completely quiet in his watch-tower. He stands there awhile to notice how much sound and time feels like they're at a standstill when he's not speaking with his boss. Anyway, to save a pointless thought trail into the depths of somewhere only unhealthy, Rhys moves to the door of his watch tower to step out, closing it behind him and locking it, turning around and looking over the railings of the stairs after to see who else's sleep got cut short.

 

Dark hair, thick, dark beard, eyes usually full of condescension or a hidden agenda, and the face of a complete douche. Shit, it's him. The second-party member stands at the bottom of Rhys' watch tower in nothing but a pair of boxers, an open robe and a huge pair of Bullymong fur slippers. Rhys can't un-see, nor can he retreat quick enough to pretend all of this—that none of this is actually real and his nice dream just got distorted somehow. _He's not going anywhere with the likes of him_!

 

"Fiona!" Rhys cries in to his radio, having _dashed_ back inside for it, desperately. "Nonononono—how can you do this to me?!"

 

She salutes to him. "Godspeed, you unlucky man of steel, you."

 

She signs off, again. Rhys hangs his head low, wanting to cry.

 

 _Well, fuck_.

 

Rhys descends the stairs not slow enough for his taste. All the while, the man waiting named Hugo Vasquez offers a wave, greeting him with an "Evening, Rhys." so politely no one would think twice about the details of their relationship. It's a bad one, all because Hugo reckoned, way back on Rhys' first day, that because he's been at this Summer gig longer it entitled him to belittle Rhys and give him endless menial tasks. This was before his superior was switched to Fiona, who can't stand Hugo neither.

  
  
Rhys reluctantly greets back. "...Hello, Hugo." and includes the unwanted but necessary, "...Thanks, for coming along with me." because while this man is his arch-nemesis, that doesn't diminish his chances of being mauled to death or eaten by rakks or skags. And better Vasquez than him, he can use him for a shield or decoy in a quick get-a-way from death.

 

"What's say you and I nip this little night escapade in the bud before it can climax, huh?"  
  
  
  
Rhys sighs a long, heavy sigh as they walk in the direction of the fireworks, Vasquez right at his side. "Why is everything you say like a euphemism?"  
  
  
"Is it?" Vasquez asks, looking surprised. He shrugs, "Well,  _I am_ a man of wisdom, Rhys."  
  
  
"And you couldn't have put on pants before coming out here? You seriously came all this way _like that_?"  
  
  
"Rhys. Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. When Mother Nature cries out for someone, when there are disturbances in her, shall we say, delicate areas, the last thing on anyone's mind should be being clothed."  
  
  
"See? See! There, you're doing it again! And it's a lot creepier when you aren't wearing pants! Just—why?! _What_ is wrong with you?!"  
  
  
"Will you _relax_?" Vasquez says. "Look, we're not out here to point fingers, or get cozy together because one of us isn't as subtle as he thinks with his attraction towards the other— _Rhys_ —"  
  
  
"WHAT?!" yells Rhys, and nearby a bird breaks away from a tree branch, startled, trees rustling over the cracked pitch in his voice.  
  
  
"We're both tired. "The sooner we find these kids and give it to them good, the sooner you and I can get some sleep." Vasquez casts his eyes over to look at Rhys for a long time, eyes wandering up and down Rhys in his cutely designed pyjamas—light blue with white clouds that own smiling faces. Rhys wants to cover himself but thinks he'll feel and appear silly, even though the sense of violation is strong. "Uh," Vasquez clears his throat. "...There's no problem with you staying in my tower if it gets too late and we end up straying a bit far from yours. I mean, it beats falling off a cliff or dying from the cold...or something.  
  
  
"No." says Rhys, defiant with a firm head shake. He grips his flashlight tightly as he shudders—from the invitation, _not the cold_. "No thanks."

 

* * * *

 

"Vasquez is an asshole, screwing me over like he did—does!" Rhys is yelling almost immediately as he gets back inside his tower and shrugs off his coat with such anger, it shakes like something wild and ferocious and then it crumples on the floor. He leaves it there for the time being, his usual strictness on clean, tidy places being dominated by irritation refusing to settle—at least until he's vented it out of him.  
  
  
"Eeerrr, Rhys? I sent you two out there for a _job_. What did you get up to?"  
  
  
"No. No, no, no, no—it isn't like that. _Please_ , like I'd go there with him!"  
  
  
"Aww, not a fan?"  
  
  
"Call me the 'creme dela creme' of Vasquez critics! He basically told a bunch of teenagers—like, five, or seven of them—that I wasn't capable of scolding them! That I was afraid of teenagers and possible fires,  _afraid of_ teenagers who start possible against-regulation fires!"  
  
  
"Is it—is that _not_ true?"  
  
  
"Don't start. Vasquez wasn't exactly the hero of the forest tonight either. He just talked them all half to death and gave them warnings."  
  
  
"Ooh, ooh! Hold on, let me guess. Did it go something like: "Hey, kids, know why I'm protecting this forest and you're still in school? It's not 'cause you need more time to grow and all that, it's because I know what needs to be done around these parts and 'cause I'm made of the right stuff. And it's my stuff that really helps ease and satisfy Mother Nature."  
  
  
Rhys snorts. It's an uncanny likeness. "I can tell you, the condescending jerk literally said something like that.  
  
  
" _Of course_ he did."  
  
  
"Anyway, before they could start ridiculing me, some guy came over." Rhys recalls a broad, strong-built man with a girl in tow moving through the forest, entering their scene like from out of nowhere. In those stories read to kids, or the sort read by hopeless romantics, it's when a hero emerges from the horizon of hope in bad situations. "He threw their shit in the nearby lake: their stereo and food and their beer—which they had a shit-ton of. He called them "selfish, hoarding bastards" and they were all just so terrified when they ran off, haha, it was kinda cool."  
  
  
Fiona hums along in her path of thought, a blue-painted finger-nail of the hand curled around her radio taps her chin. "Only one person's coming into my head. And that son-of-a-bitch has a stack of complaints from locals and visitors higher than my stash of booze and chocolate."  
  
  
Rhys double-takes, caught-off, staring at the radio in hand like it's become something else entirely. Because it sort of has. His boss is divulging sensitive trivia here. "Are...are you saying you're an alcoholic, Fiona?"   
  
  
"I'm saying I'm a grown woman with fine interests and a frequent desire to have a good time whenever I can. Life can get boring, y'know?"  
  
  
Rhys knows. The Avalon, Atlas' newly made and appointed space station, harbors a big company  of lackeys that's full of people like himself, hard-workers who aspire for deserving rewards and hardly leave their desks, their computers, their endless pile of reports as a consequence. He looks over at her watchtower in the distance, he smiles, swearing he can see her silhouette in it's usual form: sat down at the desk in a similar relaxed position as he, one foot on the desk and the other planted on the ground to keep her steady.  
  
  
"Hey," calls Rhys, playfully. "You can call me over any time."  
  
  
She snorts. "I don't have enough alcohol for that."  
  
  
"Hardy-harr." Rhys rolls his eyes, only a tad hurt; it's nothing he can't sleep off. He remembers, then, why he's sleep-deprived tonight, and the man who saved him from mean teenager taunts. Fiona mentioned there being a lot of complaints filed against this man. "Wait, wait, okay, so, Fiona, the guy. You know him?"  
  
  
"I think so? If I've got the right guy. That would be Jack."

"Jack? Who?"

  
"Err, you space-cadets probably know him as Handsome Jack, the CEO of Hyperion?" she explains and Rhy's eyes double in their size. So tonight, he basically came across his employer's worst rival. He can't believe he didn't put two and two together. Hyperion invests in the space station Helios, so Atlas levels the playing field with the Avalon. "Nowadays, his pockets are loaded enough to hire people like you to work with paid-volunteers like myself to help look after Pandora. He's got big plans to clean this place up, apparently. Make it _decent_. I live here so this is my home, and I gotta have a say in what goes on around some of these parts. But for all you lot from _outer-space_ , it's like extra-credit."

Rhys can't believe the coincidence. "So he's in charge of Pandora being babysat every summer? Wait, so he's our boss? Wait! My boss' biggest rival is my sub-boss?!"

" _No_. I just said I'm a paid-volunteer and that I don't work for him." she snaps, irritated by both the lack of listening skills and the idea of working for a man she isn't much a fan of. "There literally isn't a big enough amount of beer for me to _ever_ deal with that."

"...I...really think you're mildly attached to alcoholic beverages now."

"The guy's a narcissistic asshole who gets what he wants through money or threats; he charms people with his stupid face and his _not-funny_ jokes and all his chatty bullshit, but dress it up, give it too much power: it's still what it is."

  
"Ambitious? Handsomely...rich?"

  
" _My God, Rhys_."

  
"Is he single? Married? He's, like, what, hitting late thirties?"

  
"Go ask him yourself if you ever meet him again. He has a cabin up nearby the mountains. Hell of a hike. Probably why it's up there. Just don't bother me if he does some serious damage to your physical form. I don't wanna have to fill out a report saying ' _the previous, late colleague was found in a geyser of his own blood after a tragic end foreseen by his reliable, caring boss.'_ "

  
"I'll keep my curiosity in my back pocket then." Rhys decides, not liking the odds. He just hikes all that way up to the cabin, knocks on the door—disturbs this Jack guy, annoys him, then dies. Not the way he wants his Summer to go, if he's honest.


	5. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel wants to be a normal girl living a normal life but there's nothing to eat and her father's still trying to deny his infatuation with their nice neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Legit enough, and not yet proofread so please excuse me for now._

Breakfast is like a scavenger hunt to Angel.

Why?

It's because, by now, she's used to rifling through cupboards and looking deep in to the fridge but coming out empty-handed, and with a just as empty stomach. So the scavenger hunt comparison is well suited for the mornings they're out of left-over take out from the night before. Sometimes it's been fun, like the time randomly grabbed ingredients made a sort of sundae, and the time high fiber cereal fused with a packet of Jelly Babies (it was unconventional, but Angel thought 'Hey, it's healthy and sweet. It's the best of both worlds!'.

In cases likes these, the "scavenger hunts" can actually turn out to be a highlight of her day.

Today, sadly, isn't one of those days.

Angel steps back from the cupboards with a sour expression, "We have to reacquaint ourselves with the supermarket some time this year."

The gruff voice from in the next room argues, "For cryin' out loud, we were there just the other friggin' day!"

"Normal families grocery shop, like, every week, not month. And last time I checked, we were...well, at least I was on the list of normal people. And normal people's lives include eating three times a day, not including foreign food purchased the night before. As tasty as Chinese food is and as much as I swear I can live off of it, I can't stress enough the damage it would do to my body."

"Ehhhhh, I'm sure you can. Worst case: you get a bad stomach-ache. Then you'll be so full of food and in pain from it that you won't give a damn about grocery shopping."

"What ingenious, sneaky parental tactics you have."

"You're absolutely right, babe, I am a genius."

Angel frowns, "That's not what I—" whistling tunes in and her out, quite obnoxiously and blatantly. Angel tries not to roll her eyes too far, they'll get stuck otherwise; she deals with these antics of a forty-something year old far too often when her father is between a child and an uncooperative adult (which are hardly apart from each other, mind you), and ultimately, she lets him have his way unless it directly involves her with chance of disturbing her designed lifestyle. "Oh, by the way, we had a phone call earlier. From the manager of the place we usually order from. Yeah, and it looks like we can't do that anymore." Instead of ' _why?_ ' there's silence, so she assumes her father already knows. Or he doesn't care (it's probably this one). "Apparently the guy who delivered to us last night was yelled at, threatened, and by the time he went back to the restaurant he was in tears. He nearly quit to move towns, too."

"Oh." the sound of her father isn't in a tone of empathy nor surprise. He's a bit smug, she's sure to know that tone so well. "That's a shame."

"Are you saying that wasn't you who lost his temper and took it out on the nice delivery guy?"

"He wasn't _that_ nice."

" _Dad_?"

"I didn't tell him to quit and move town!"

"What did you tell him, then?!"

"That I...didn't want to see his face in that restaurant or this town again because it'd make me very upset."

"Daaad!" Angel _must_ put a hand over her face the way she does, it's very much warranted over this humiliating anecdote of her father _once again_ being driven by intense, immature desires. If they can't go back there again—and they _certainly_ can't now, from the sound of it all. And the employers are well within their right to refuse even _the_ Handsome Jack for his impetuousness—then she'll be on another hunt for the second best Chinese restaurant.

The unconventional father's defense against this is place partial blame on his daughter, "I remember _somebody_ saying she wanted one of those fortune cookies, but the idiot forgot to put it in with our food! We paid a Goddamn idiot just to forget a Goddamn cookie!"

"I don't think he meant to. There was no reason for you to take things so far. _You're_ _meant_ to be an _adult_ , _Jack_."

The father's head and a portion of his upper half come in to view, poking in from outside. He's fiddling with his white shirt's top three buttons, indecisively between a casually open or a sophisticated closed look. His irritation isn't settled until he says his peace, like usual. "Hey, if my baby girl wants a dumb cookie holding a strip of paper with baseless fabrications about her future then she'll damn well get one!"

Just like before, trying to sway her father to believe otherwise, to put down the baby rattle and decrease the volume of his whines to listen to the opinions of others, is left alone. Angel sighs and obediently says, "Yes, dad." as it's what he wants to hear. (That's the general workings of meetings in her father's office in his big company, too). It seems like breakfast, for today, is a miss, Angel concludes, walking out of the kitchen with a low-angled head, then up the stairs so she can prepare to leave shortly for school. Not hearing any indication of movement behind her, she turns to look behind and down the steps.

Jack's moved on from his shirt to now fiddle with his hair, fingers hovering around, dancing near the dark, super-gelled strands in wonder of reapportions. Standing in front of the large mirror in the hallway of the entrance, he looks at himself and his quiff so intensely.

Angel nips in a laugh, but doesn't restrain her smile. She clears her throat loudly. "Going somewhere or seeing someone special, Jack?"

"Quit calling me by my name, kiddo! And _no_ , I'm not."

Angel smiles more, unconvinced. "It's for Rhys, isn't it?"

He warns her, "I'm giving you the chance to go upstairs and be ready to leave for school in the next two minutes, or else I'm taking you there in your pyjamas. Don't think I'm above sending you there like that, neither! If public embarrassment lowers your number of friends, leaving me as your only source of socializing, then, hey, I'm all for it!"

"Don't be scared. It's not the end of the world if he says no."

" _Scared_? Who's scared?  _Psshh_! I'm not scared. Maybe _you're_ scared, but I'm awesome. Besides, no one says "no" to  _Handsome Jack_ and lives."

Angel mutters to herself that they really should when he speaks of himself in third person. "Well..." she shrugs. "I I hope he says yes. The genuine kind of yes, not the sarcastic."

"It'll be his funeral if that's the case."

"And  _your_ sexless life."

" _Get_ dressed. _Now_."

Angel can't disobey him a second time. He's using the tone he pitches to subordinates he threatens to shoot out into space. "I'm just saying," she gently presses on as she continues up the stairs. "Be nice. There aren't a lot of Rhys' in the world."

Jack snorts. "With a name like that, I'm not surprised."

Angel shakes her head disapprovingly. She's reached the top of the stairs now, her room's only down the hall and changing into her jumper and pleated tartan skirt won't take long. It's usually her hair, which she's recently given a drastic against-school-regulation style. But when her father is possibly the scariest, most handsome man with a lot of power, she swings excuses. "There aren't a lot of ways this can go. Don't look at him the way you would weapon schematics; people aren't tools to be used."

To that, Jack grins toothily. "Oh, Angel-cakes, you'd be surprised."

 _'I really wouldn't'_ , the daughter thinks. Angel watches her father at long last abandon the mirror for the front door and calls out, "Don't forget the mail like last time!" she yells after him before the door closes, mentally wishing him luck.

Jack returns shortly, but the morning paper and mail he'd conjured up the excuse of needing to retrieve from their mailbox forgone in the daze from seeing their neighbor—and his employee, as it happens. Rhys isn't like any of the other guys or gals Jack's ever met, cliche as it is to convey. He's tall, sensibly dressed though in a wack-sense too, a bit of a nerd but it works like a charm, he's caring and daring and resourceful and reliable and has _grea_ t hair. Angel finds it amazing how her perception of Jack gets altered whenever Rhys is mentioned or around, and her father tries but he isn't as cool and balanced then. Angel clearly remembers her father heading in to a store for one thing, then incidentally running in to Rhys and coming out by the end of it with something bizarre: fish food for a fish they don't have. And all because of where a conversation with Rhys went:

> _"Cats are heartless demons. Dogs aren't so bad. Ah, but Fish are easy; they don't remember if you forget to feed them."_

Jack's hairstyle is swept, he looks surprised. No...taken aback? Generally like the world behind the door he's just closed wasn't anything like he imagined, but more terrifying. And _that's_ the thing, _Handsome Jack never looks that way_. "Shit." he's breathless but can manages, at least, a syllable to sum up his current thoughts, just as his daughter's on her way back down in her uniform, mentioning "Language" as a reminder. "Shit. Shit!" Jack repeats in place of a deserved apology for being caught. "I—I mean _'my bad'_." 

Angel acknowledges that with a hum but still makes a short trek to the living room to bring back their big, transparent "SW34R" jar. She shakes it to let the coins and papers scuffle around together—a message, an indicator. "Two hundred."  
  
Jack's face is a picture, eyes wide, mouth open and everything. "Uh, _excuse me_ , young lady?"  
  
Angel shakes the jar again, relentlessly. "Two hundred. Come on,  _you_ upped it last month, and I'm in charge of the "Angel Needs a Life, Send Help" fund."

"Oh? Well, I'm in charge of your allowance, and there's gonna be a massive decrease if you don't stop shaking that _damn_ jar and get it out of my face!"

"Damn? That's fifty."

" _Angel_!"

Angel listens to the cry and holds the jar to her chest. "Dad, what happened with Rhys?"

"Nothing! I just..." He figures it's hopeless to explain himself first, but Jack looks at her for the mature woman she's becoming, not just as his daughter about to be on her way to school. She often keeps his head above water, she often makes sure he gets his five-a-day and doesn't always pig-out on fast foods in his office; she's his Angel who knows him more than he knows himself sometimes. "I'm beginning to think, y'know, that maybe, as awesome and great and _Goddamn handsome_ as I am, that he's always gonna see me for who... _what_ I am!"

"...Awesome, great and...Godd—uh, _really_ handsome?"

"His boss!" Jack exclaims, hands flying about.

"Oh."

"Crazy, right? I know. Like, totally ridiculous! I usually get off on the whole dom-sub thing because I like controlling people but maybe it's gotta be different this time? Huh, I dunno. Meehhh, It's fun so why stop it altogether, huh? Maybe he's in to it too. Kid would look great in a—"

"I won't be able to look our neighbor in the eye if you ever finish that sentence."

"Well, if all goes to my design, you'll need to start wearing a blindfold. Oh man, I can imagine him with a—"

"Please, stop!"

Jack grins, loving that he tickles on her nerves and at her sanity. It's what father's do best besides parent. "Come on," he beckons to the front door, moving toward it. "I'll drive your butt to school."

"Thanks." Angel steps out with him, takes in the familiar sights of their front garden as they walk along the stone pavement: their nice-looking car parked at the end of the driveway, beside the grass area laden with flowers she insisted would make their place home-y. It's what every loving family home has. And _food_. Ugh, she can't let Jack forget to food shop again. To her right she notices Rhys heading out too, long legs taking him down his front garden's own path and his own car, while he's got a hand rifling through his work satchel and the other holding a flask of coffee.

Angel waves and wishes him a good morning. Rhys' head turns in many directions until he places her and waves back with the hand once lost in his bag, the sunlight gleaming over his smile and the metallic coat of his prosthetic arm.

"I think you should do whatever makes you happy. And is _legal_." Angel says to her father about Rhys. About being happy in general. Jack's just catching up to her, hurried steps slowing as he matches her pace and tries to look cool with a hand cruising back through his hair for the incalculable time at the sight of Rhys. Angel grants her eyes permission to roll this time. 

"And tell him we don't have a pet fish!"


	6. Firewatch au #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys is nearly made to be the muse of another one of Fiona's "creative" insults through a bad drawing, then comes to learn a bit more about the man who did his job for him that night, the big, bad, handsome man of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I think I really should space out these FW aus, mix them well between others instead of packing them close together because then it'll end too quick. I'll try to leave the next one for a bit, I do have other aus planned. But, in the spirit of this awfully hot Summer, I'll allow it. It's nice writing this, and FW was an okay game from what I saw of a playthrough._
> 
> _Enjoy, and happy summer! :)_

**Day 21**

 

"Wow. You're really tall, Rhys."  
  
  
"Thanks? Wait, is that an actual compliment?"  
  
  
"Depends on how you look at it."  
  
  
"Oh...kay...?" It's much too suspicious of an answer for Rhys to know what to say, and the shadiness alone is with Fiona. "Why the sudden need to talk about the obvious?"  
  
  
"Because..." Fiona starts but then pauses like she has to keep her reasons to herself, like the way she's keeping a sketchpad and pencil firmly to her chest. "...I might be trying to draw you. _All_ of you. There's just not enough space on the page, not enough paper. Not enough trees on Pandora."

  
Rhys' eyes rolls because he gets it now, she's making fun of him. Or wants to. "Quit, then, why don't you? I'll feel relieved if you do, actually."

  
"What if this is my life-long dream, Rhys? You're stomping on it."

  
Rhys scoffs, "Someone has to, you're a menace to kind people of society."

  
"How dare you?!"

  
"How dare _I_? Fiona, I know you pretty well by now and this is just another creative way for you to laugh at me some more!"

  
She shrugs, "Time has to pass somehow."

  
" _Wow_. _Thank you_."  
  


"Oh, come on—"

  
"No, no, really. I'm _honored_ but I don't feel like being _your_ muse, Fiona."  
  


"Don't be such a stiff, just tell me what you're wearing."  
  


Rhys bets, even though Fiona can surely see what he's got on from her glorious perch up in her watchtower, she won't leave him alone until he humors her like he seems to have been doing this whole time, only half-conscious of it before. He takes a look down at himself, not unimpressed nor ashamed of his casual and comfortable wear. So maybe it's quite 'out-there' compared to all the suits lab-coats up on the Avalon, but he likes it just fine. "Uhh...clothes. That's what I'm wearing."  
  


" _Idiot_." she says, shaking her head.  
  


"What?"

  
" _Describe_ them to me, you moron. I can't look through my ECHO-Noculars all the time if I'm going to be drawing."

  
"Alright, okay." She's a demanding woman, Rhys thinks with a sigh. His eyes wander down again, across his collar bones where his shirt opens over his blue, spiral tattoos, over loose shorts, to his patterned socks inside clean loafers. "I'm wearing comfortable clothes. What else can I say?"

  
" _Ugh_ , you suck!" she snaps in a fit of frustration and throws away in to the back her art materials.

  
"Again, _thank you_."

  
"You really won't let me draw you, huh?"  
  
  
"Nope." Rhys says, satisfied. "You're only gonna behave like a school bully and draw a lamppost or a tree or a giant antennae with claims that I resemble them."

  
"Oh, God...and I was worried you wouldn't see it in my drawing."  


_That's enough for one day_ , Rhys thinks. He puts on a smile they both know is fake and nods over at his boss in her watch-tower sitting on the horizon. "Always a pleasure talking to you, Fiona. Have a nice afternoon."

 

* * * *

 

**Day 25**

 

"Hey, you said before Jack used to work here, that he had his own watch-tower and everything."  
  


"Yeeeaaah...?" Fiona doesn't really want this to go somewhere, not anything Jack related.

  
"So..." Rhys bites his lip, a little scared to ask. "Why'd he stop? I mean, did something happen? Was there a, uh, an i-incident? Or something."

  
She exhales in a long, tired sigh. It's raspy and exhausted; it's hinted with consumption of alcohol and, probably, more reports than wanted late in the evening. "It's taken you this long to be curious enough to ask me?"

  
"Hey, I've been kinda busy with all the jobs you've sent me on, and not-dying from the crazy "wildlife" on this planet. And...it never really crossed my mind until then."

  
She sighs again, it's long, raspy. "He, err.... _oh God_. He—the last job he was sent out for, that I remember, he had a hand in the start of a huge fire. Burned a lot of this forest to nothing, left a lot of _embellished memories_. He went out to deal with some kids—much like you and Vasquez the other night."

  
Rhys shudders and shakily groans. "Ooooh, do not—please, don't put his name with mine like that."

  
"Haha, sorry." she offers, which is nice of her even if it's half-spurious. "They set up a campfire in non-camping grounds, I think, and it got kind of strong; the wind was heavy that night, too—so, obviously, yeah. They were already given a warning before Jack went out to them."

  
Rhys interrupts, "Like that's ever stopped kids before."

  
"Right. Anyway, so, whenever he's asked about it, he claims _'it just got out of hand'_ and says _'the dumb-shits purposely ignored the friggin'_ _rules, so good ol' Jack, being the hero that I am, got the kiddos to stop'_."

  
Rhys knows, by the height of his brow, that he won't get a good answer when he dares to ask, "...How?"

  
"Rhys, the psycho literally got them on fire. He pushed one or two of them in to their campfire; said maybe then they'd care about the forest regulations and put it out."

  
"Holy shit."

  
"Yeah." she says in an obvious tone. "The guy's unhinged, no doubt about that whatsoever. But he did the job. I don't know, he just...Jack has the presence about him. It's intimidating—most people shit themselves. Well, you'll get to know, back on Helios whenever he pays his cooperate lackeys a visit."

  
Rhys can imagine. The stories he's heard, alone, paint enough visuals. And he witnessed Jack in action himself a couple days ago. Now there's this story about pushing actual living beings in to flames! Holy, fucking, shit. Rhys is a little impressed—mostly terrified, though. "Okay. I'm—I'm not okay with inconsiderate youths being the cause of me being woken up at four in the morning, but I'm really not okay with that, with _arson_."

  
"Good." she says. "I'm never gonna ask you to do anything like that. Maybe hand a few pricks a round of knuckle-sandwiched, give 'em a scare. But that's it. This _is_ your first go at the job, Rhys. Don't want you getting FIRED so soon, before the Summer's even over."

  
He should've seen this coming from their great distance away. Rys's head leans back with a whine,"Fionaaa."

  
"What's wrong? Can't take the heat?"

  
"Ugh. Atrocious."

  
She laughs. "Is your blood boiling knowing you've met your match?"

  
"Maybe I'll never turn this thing on again."

  
"Right, 'cause that's safe. Yeah, you can get mauled by a bear or a Rakk Hive or something and I won't need to a life a finger."

  
"...Well...well, I mean, there aren't really bears out here are there?"

  
"Scared?"

  
"Holy shit, _yes_."

  
She laughs over the honesty, it's just so like him. "I can see why you're single and you're very easy to tease."

  
"Really? Every think that maybe I wanna be by myself? 'Cause maybe too many seemingly nice women turn out like my summer-job boss."

  
"Hey, you'd be so lucky to have me on your arm."

  
"...Is that a hint?"

  
"No. _God no_."

  
Rhys smirks. "I think it is."

  
"Shut up."

  
"Aww, someone getting hot under the collar?"

  
"G'nite, space-boy."

  
"Wait, wait, wait!" Rhys is literally pleading with her, a legit question on his mind for her before she goes. "Jack used to work here but he's rich now. Enough to hire people to send people like me down here for him. So—I don't get it. Why does he come down here? What's in it for him?"

  
"You don't know?" she asks, surprised. "His daughter. Yeah, Angel loves coming down out here, seeing all the...just everything. Can't blame her since Jack keeps her cooped up indoors all the time, like a bird in a cage. Says it's for her protection but I can't imagine being isolated like that."

  
Rhys can't neither. He saw the life of blue in Angel's eyes, or how they lacked in comparison to the sun yet were still beautiful. He heard the way she was reprimanded for letting slip a curse, from a man who cursed effortlessly. Rules and taboo applying only to her, like she's the exception. "She sounds like a fairy-tale princess."

  
"That girl is his entire world. Anyone can see it, he adores her. They have their tiffs and spats often but in the end they're pretty solid together." she explains. Then she pauses, huffing in distaste with what she admits to. "Not a thing like my dad and me."

  
"Uhhh...?" Rhys' vocals mumble for him, most of his focus on wondering if he's about to get in to something so personal he shouldn't.

  
But Fiona stays on it, annoyed. "He sold us out, me and my sister, for a lot of cash. Ten million. Snatched it right out of our hands. So now every summer I come here to get away from him and the noisy brats I teach several hours a day."

  
"Man, that sucks." Rhys, Captain-Obvious, offers in sympathy. "How's your sister?"

  
"She's good. In college. She said she might join me here next Summer."

  
"Cool. Is she—uh, what's she like?"

  
"Gorgeous. Strong. Amazing. Fucking awesome." a snort. "Way out of your league, space-boy."

  
"Hey, I was just asking!"

  
"I know what you were "just asking", Rhys." she says, matter-of-fact like. She's smirking at how easy to read he is, but irritated by it all the same. Every guy and their brother hits on her little sister. She can take care of herself but still. And damn it, Rhys is actually...like, if she squints, he's a little cute. "Stay away from my sister."


	7. Infinite Continuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paradise-like city, Avalon, that floats up in the cloudy, blue skies is full of a wonder that escapes a rampaging father looking for his daughter, and the CEO taken hostage. It's also the center stage for a multitude of universes on constant loop and overseen by anonymous voices waiting for the singular, uncommon good ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is it, the Bioshock Infinite and Blazblue crossover au. It's subject to editing in places, but enough is written that I can post it now.

**7 | Infinite Continuum**

 

 

_\- "Hero: Beginning(s)" , Played 98, 097 times..._

Jack falls before he knows of the misstep, hurtles and descends to land in an office-like room and straight on to the wooden desk beneath him. It breaks in pieces, legs buckling under his unsupported weight. Books sprawl out, some closed, some open to pages that are crippled and creased like fragments of his memory, especially the one where he decided it was a good idea to jump over to a ledge that looked like a meter or two away. He doesn't know why, he just felt like he'd tried times before, succeeded sometimes as well.

A strong wave of deja-vu corrupts his mind.

Nausea kicks in tow. Jack puts a hand tentatively to his head, groans.

"...Ho...ly... _shit_..."

Jack peeks one eye open in direction of the sound, a voice unsure and hesitant but strongly surprised. It apparently belongs to the very tall, brunet haired man standing beside the desk in disarray and Jack laying on top, curious and horrified. He holds a book safely in his arms before raising it high above and holding it over the man he doesn't recognize. Broken metal cuffs wrap at his wrists, their loose tail chains dangling. The man looks neither prepared to actually assault Jack with his _thick,_   _hard-back_ book nor act civil, shaking and indecisively between interrogation or fleeing to hide. He can't simply escape this room, the chains should tell of his capture not a trip through a kinky avenue; and so he's literally and figuratively stuck.

The man licks his lips then swallows nothing but an uncomfortable lump of nerves, yet they stay. "...W-who...who are you?" Jack's ears are ringing, back's aching, head's still pounding some degree from the impact. He can't answer quick enough, so fear and paranoia make the man impatient and hold the book up even higher in warning. "I asked you a question! Sir, answer me! O-Or else!..."

Jack rolls himself off the broken desk and on to his side with a hard, drawn-out groan. He's in so much pain, he thinks he's cracked a rib or something. Groaning some more, he tilts his head up to face the man and requests painkillers for a dramatically dying hero.

 

*  *  *  *

_\- "(Misguided) Hero: Beginning(s)" , Played 8, 042 times..._

The man licks his lips then swallows nothing but an uncomfortable lump of nerves, yet they stay. "...W-who...who are you?" Jack doesn't answer quick enough, so fear and paranoia make the man impatient and hold the book up even higher in warning. "I asked you a question! Sir, answer me! O-Or else!..."  
  
"H-Hold on a second...f-fuck me," Jack wheezes, coming to kneel with a hand steadily on the carpet while one is wrapped around his aching ribs. He'd made the jump, landed on the ledge successfully, then low and behold it broke underneath him at the last minute just as he was about to take another step. "Damn fall nearly killed me. Fucking piece of shit. Fuck!"  
  
The man raises the book higher, "I'll ask again. Sir, who the fuck are you?!"  
  
"Watch your language." Jack tuts, standing up. The man's eyes trace him up and down from his boots to the light streak in his dark coif. Jack admires him, too, and finds he's not too bad on the eyes, thankfully. "And I'd put that down if I were you, Cupcake, otherwise one of us—you—will get seriously hurt."  
  
The man isn't defeated by the threat so much as his curiosity is redirected from the stranger to the broken-in ceiling above, looking around up there, peripheral stretching to corners and cracks in quick scans. "How'd you get down here?"  
  
"I fell. Did you not just see that or what?"  
  
"No. I mean is there a way up and out of here?"  
  
"I don't know!"  
  
"So how'd you fall in to my office?!"  
  
"I _fell_. And, by the way, your office?" Jack takes a look around but what he sees doesn't warrant an impressed whistle. "Yeeaahh, it's not an inch on mine. Kinda stuffy in here. Nothing really jumps out and amazes me."  
  
"My office wasn't designed to impress and amaze the likes of strangers who just happen to fall down in to it while I'm being held against my will! Sorry!"  
  
"Sheesh. Snappy little puppy, aren't ya?"  
  
"Excuse me?!"  
  
Jack waves at him to shush, stepping out of his position and pacing around. He does this silently for a while, as if judging the area, or thinking.  
  
The man can't make much sense of this. The stranger, his falling down into his office and now...surveying it? And all of a sudden now, after months of failed attempts, he's free from the handcuffs? What is this?! "Uh, hello? Yeah, Sir?"  
  
"The name's Handsome Jack, sweet-cheeks."  
  
"Uh, okay, gonna need you to never call me that again."  
  
"Well what do they call you?"  
  
"They, supposing you mean a consensus, call me what anyone would call the CEO of a company. But my name's Rhys—and no, you cannot make recurring jokes about it."  
  
"Ha. Cupcake, no one usually tells Handsome Jack what to do and lives."  
  
"Well, no one usually falls through the ceiling neither, so there's _that_."  
  
"I ain't paying for repairs—"  
  
"No one's implying or saying that, Sir."  
  
"If you ask me, it actually gives you the chance to remodel this shitty office."  
  
"Okay, well, if you insist so strongly, please, go out of your way and redecorate what has been my prison for the last four months. I'll be lucky if I never see my office like this again."  
  
Jack hums, thinking, in recognition. "Four months, you say?"

"Yep." Rhys makes the last letter pop at the end, and that, and his change of view from the man to the ceiling again, tell Jack he doesn't want the conversation of his being kept hostage to continue. The man crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling again like it'll change this time. "So, there's really no ladder or anything up there?" Jack thinks that in the four months he's been kept a prisoner, he would've tried and found that out for himself. Like he's read his mind, Rhys stares at him pointedly and says/admits, "I haven't been the CEO for very long. I hardly had time to get acquainted with my office, was handcuffed practically on the first day." he looks back up.  
  
"There's nothing up there, kid. I didn't just fall for the fun of it. Damn ledge collapsed, that's it."   
  
"You aren't just clumsy?"  
  
"Err, _no_. I fell, that's it. Get over it. I can see you've got an ECHO-Eye. Pretty damn wasteful for you not to have seen me falling from the sky."

" _Oh_. Please excuse me, Mr. Handsome Jack. I was trying to figure a way out of here. Sorry being a hostage means I'm not focusing on the man falling in to my room."

"You can make it up to me, sweet-cheeks."  
  
"I told you to not call me that."  
  
"I told you no one tells me what to do. And lives."  
  
The man throws hands up. "Then we're at an impasse."  
  
"An in-what?"

Rhys throws hands up in the air in exhaustion and sighs when they come down to his sides. He pinches the bridge of his nose, "Why are you here, exactly? And please don't say again that you fell. I got that—the _massive hole_ in my ceiling and falling bits of plaster got that."  
  
"Well, I'm the guy who's come all this way to get you outta here, some respect would be good."

"You're four months late. I sent an SOS out ages ago."  
  
"Errr, no, I'm not that guy. I'm not whoever you sent out an SOS to.  I did say I came here to haul your ass out, and I may be the hero but don't think I'm doing this to save you. I'm looking for someone."

"Who?"

Jack opens his mouth and considers telling, but for lack of trust issues, decides not to. "None of your Goddamn business. Just know that you're taking orders from me until otherwise."  
  
"...Can you please elaborate on that?"  
  
Jack rolls eyes then takes out his arms, aims his pistol so it's staring Rhys in the face. Neither the weapon nor the CEO move an inch. "I could, Cupcake, but I'm not a patient man and I'm already a little behind schedule."  
  
Rhys blinks, between Jack and his hands. His lashes flutter, eyes darting between Jack and a way out he's hoping will show. The gun follows him. "This—This is so, totally wrong!" he quickly moves to the left, the pistol darts the same way like a mirror. Rhys curses. "Damn it! You can't do this!"  
  
Jack clicks the safety off with swift motion. Rhys can tell he's done this before. "Look, either get shot in the face or just submit to me already."

Door knocks, frustrated voices on other side of door call, "Mr. Rhys, Sir? We hear a lot of shouting. What's going on? Do you need help?"

Rhys eyes the gun for a moment, checking it's safe, then leans his head out to holler back at the door, "Don't come in! And don't act like you care, you jerks! I'm in here because of you and now I'm gonna get shot because of you, too! Happy?!"

"What? Shot?! Is there someone in there with you, Sir?"

Another voice scoffs, "Planning to break out, huh? Vasquez's gonna hear about this."

"Screw _Ass_ quez!" Rhys snaps. "If I wanna leave then as the CEO I d-demand that you...that you let me out right now o-or, or else...uh, please?"

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, Pumpkin, you're adorable." he hears the chatter of the group of guards outside questioning his voice, asking among themselves if he's the one who's been killing his way up and around here. He is, and they'll be next if they plan to try and take him on as soon as they finish banging the door down. But lucky for them, he has bigger fish to fry and an Angel to find. He puts down his gun, falsely calming Rhys, "Tell you what, Princess. You come with me and I'll show the time of your life. Provided you do as I say and I won't kill you."

The bangs to the door intensify. Rhys backs away to the wall by the open window. He looks down, like he's done so many times before when thinking of escaping, and now this is his chance. But if the rumors are true, he'll be leaving with a very dangerous man. Rhys gulps and shakes his head, "N-No...No, I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Oooh, I'm sorry but I'm afraid that's the wrong friggin' answer."

More bangs and thumps. The doors sound closer to breaking.

Rhys is cursing on the inside. It's not easy to make a decision between being kept captive or being killed/taken hostage. Jack makes the decision for them, counting down from five, reaching one just as the doors to the office finally burst open and guards flee in with batons, then grabbing Rhys and flinging them both out of the open window to shoot his grappling hook out and glide across the city.

 

*  *  *  *

 

_\- "(Handsome) Hero: proceeding" , Played 8 times..._

  
"What brought you here, Jack?" Rhys asks as they walk across Avalon's crystal-like bridge, one of its most viewed piece of architecture by tourists. It's quiet, bright and beautiful, and citizens sometimes say that when wishes are made while on the bridge, they stand a chance of coming true.  
  
"A Hyperion New-U."  
  
"I mean _why_. Why come to my office?" Rhys spreads arms out, gesturing to the whole of the city they're walking through. White clouds and blue sky, beautiful doves flying by, every step on land really a step among the sky in this sky-city/life once only in dreams. "Why come to Avalon, the city of dreams?"  
  
"...Because my daughter's missing. Four months back, I got shot down by a couple bastard vault hunters and she ran off. Now, I got people on my end telling me they saw someone with her before she disappeared. Those same people told me I could find you, the idiot who's gonna help me bring her back. You and your magic-mumbo-jumbo powers, kid."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about—"  
  
"You. You're a _Goddamn Siren_."  
  
Rhys freezes.  
  
"'Go to Atlas, look for the CEO, he's a siren' they tell me." Jack explains what he remembers his employees in the intel-science and R &D department telling him. "I called bullshit and shot the idiot who I thought found my daughter's disappearance a joke. But then they tell me you were with her last and that it's the best shot at finding my daughter."  
  
Rhys shudders a breath. "O-Oh. I, uh, I don't know...what to say."  
  
" _I'm_ saying you're the last guy to have seen Angel."  
  
"Well, that can't be true. Uh, I mean...okay, there was a girl—she didn't tell me her name. She was upset, trying to get away from something, it looked like."  
  
Jack sighs. "That'd be me, kid. I freaked her out big time. Killed someone right in front of her and she took off."

"Yeah, that'll do it."

"But I'll do it as many times as I have to if it's gonna help me find her. And I can demonstrate with you."  
  
"Come on! You came in to my office—out of nowhere—threatened me and threw me out a window! I could've died!" And so then where would Jack be with finding his daughter, Rhys wonders. Of course, asking aloud will probably result in a finger on the trigger of the magnum cup that'll no doubt be against his head, or his chest where his heart is.  
  
"That's still a possibility. All depends on how you help me out. You're not the only lead I've got, just the easiest."  
  
"Excuse me?!"  
  
"Die, live, I don't care. But that's up to me for now. Just stick around and help me find my daughter."  
  
"Sir? Jack, look, I can't. I wish you luck of the highest degree, I assure you, but I have something that urgently needs my attention. A handful of my supposed colleagues and subordinates and a douche-bag named Vasquez are holding a meeting with a Pandoran which I need to intervene before he can rip off and frame me for—Oh no. Shit."

Jack means to ironically tell him to watch his language again but when he looks in the direction Rhys' horrified and tired look is aimed, he gets it. They've been found by the same security guards who were trying so hard to kill him. Jack counts them all as they approach. One. Two, three. Five. Seven in total. He's talented with his revolver gun but doubts he can kill them all before one pulls a gun out on him. He debates fleeing and alternatively considers the two of them flinging off the side of the bridge and just barely landing on the floating platform below. "Okay, kiddo, here's the plan. We..." his mouth hangs open so it looks like he's gaping, with every right, too, seeing a grainy and gray picture just hang in the middle of the air, between Rhy's struggling hands. "...What the ever living fuck?"

"I-I don't know! I mean..." Rhys stutters.

It looks like a portal to Jack if he ever saw one. There's no way it can be completely safe. But between a possible exit and getting shot, he thinks 'fuck it'. Rhys is shouting curses and detests as Jack runs his way, knowing full well what his 'plan' is and then they're tumbling inside the open picture. Rhys feels like he can't breathe while they're falling through it, like his heart's been pulled up through his throat and bursts.  
  
They land on solid platform and when Jack stands and looks around, recognizes the bar and the station for floating gondolas (where he came from), he realizes they've just actually teleported across the city.  
  
"What the ever living fuck, Cupcake?!" Jack snaps to the CEO.  
  
Rhys is only on his hands and knees, gasping for life, grasping to to believe what he just went through. "Someone, hah...they told you about me, right? Hah...about what I can do."

Vaguely, yes, but not really. "No, no, no, no, no—they said you were cute and all—"

"It's a tear."

"And just what in Handsome God's name is that?"

Rhys stares, looks away to think, as he steadily balances himself on his feet again, he explains. Of course he's never really experienced the phenomena until now, only going through possible outcomes and capabilities in his head, never really going through with a test run though he had been trying from the minute his employees locked him in his office. "...It's...like a window to another world. Or some kind of...wish fulfillment."

"...Hah?"

"It's bringing things out from one place to another. Coffee instead of tea, tacos instead of leftovers. I've been trying to make it work, this...thing I can do."

"And what exactly is that thing? You're not making any Goddamn sense, idiot!"

"To put it simply, I call it Phase-pulling."

Jack scoffs. "Oh. Oh, okay. That's you putting it simply. Jesus Christ."

"It's weird, I know. I'm a male with siren abilities. That's not...if I hadn't been subjected to the procedure then I wouldn't believe it neither."

"Yeah, it does sound like all this is coming outta yer ass."

Rhys frowns. Then turns, marvels at their new perspective of Avalon from their new position. Across the vast landscape of floating buildings and beautiful, blue sky, there's the bridge they've come from and just escaped guards. He can't believe it. "I'm not sure how I can explain the way it works. My best friend and I have tried to find out what he can through researching books and articles online but..." he shakes his head slowly, engrossed in the tries and fails of his research. "Basically, in the end, I realise now that there's a major different between the things we can see and what actually exists."

"You hit your head on the way here, kid?"

"Jack, I'll help you find your daughter."

"That's the plan with or without your consent. But why the sudden change of mind? You fallin' for me again? Get it? 'Cause we just fell through that crack you--"

"No," Rhys faces him seriously. "Because with great power comes great responsibility. And I don't want to go back to those jerks who are supposed to be my trusted employees. You have a psychotic way of handling things, Sir, but if I can help you find your missing daughter then let me do what I can." Rhys says and holds out his arm, his hand.

Jack looks at him and the hand for some time, debating with himself. He figures, too, at the very least, he can lend this guy a hand with his revenge against his so-called employees later too, because revenge will be necessary and he will not be indebted to anyone. So that's it. Yeah, he nods to himself, pretty satisfied. That's the plan, and he shakes Rhys' hand on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

> "How disappointing, again. Despite the effort, and the driving passion for alternate outcomes, to the very end, this outcome is unfortunate."  
>    
>  "Indeed, Elpis."  
>    
>  "A story doesn't change form when it ends, it's simply known. No longer a theory of 'how', just 'when'. _When_ the girl will run away,  _when_ the father will take action, _when_ the father and the Atlas siren will progress to the the truth."  
>    
>  "Yes. But when will the father become the hero?"  
>    
>  "I thought you were watching, Helios."  
>    
>  "I am, but I don't reckon his insistence to be the hero misguided. He became villainous but began otherwise."  
>    
>  "Wrong story-line."  
>    
>  "No. Not at all. It's just as you were saying. It's a matter of _when_. When will he not sustain a fatal injury that obstructs him from fully reaching a true end?"  
>    
>  "Let's see it again, observe the story that goes on and on again and again. We cannot change anything, we merely watch and critic. So let us wonder not how Handsome Jack will become the hero of this story by saving the girl, himself and the Atlas Siren..."  
>    
>  "But _when_ he will do so in another."
> 
> _\- Voices of Elpis and Helios, 41, 091, 127th observation of the "Makings of a Hero" multiple universe phenomena._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To explain the premise simply, in the countless, multiple universes, Jack's looking for Angel, but only in a very few handful does he make the best decisions and not die, and only in a singular time-line does he find and take Angel back safe, and Rhys. In the first scene, Jack misses the ledge, whereas in the second he makes it but the ledge breaks and he falls anyway (I'd say he falls in 9/10 of the time-lines as he's meant to meet Rhys and it seems the most common way).
> 
> The voices are based on the 'Takamagahara' in Blazblue.


	8. "Logan/L064N"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A company-man's son looks for meaning behind his name and fun away from the space station he calls 'home' when he tags along with his like-a-sister's plan to locate treasure, all under the supervision of her 'adult', sociopathic father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to post this next in this anthology and since it's Autumn now, and Inktober, I figure it's a good a time as any; Halloween's coming and this is a little Sci-Fi-ish, and I'm a much better writer than a drawer anyway so I'll be dabbling  
> in short stories and little drawings this month.
> 
> It's late but you shouldn't ever be concerned about writing at a late hour so long as you can handle it! I haven't played Borderlands for a while so this feels a little weird, still I hope you enjoy it~
> 
> *I nearly forgot this is inspired by my ultimate Disney film "Treasure Planet", so some credit to that.

**Part One**

 

>   _"I did that, like, once, a million years ago when I was a kid."_  
>  \- **Logan**

 

Dinner _would_ prevail as usual tonight: bland, hauled, unrealistic with a father trying too hard to get a light conversation going, clean-table cloth beneath a row of a feast of dishes. It is a little like that, actually; about sixty-percent. Logan's still playing with his food more than he's eating it, still got his chin lazily perching on a palm and eyes urging to roll, still letting the words coming out of his father go in then out his ears.

Tonight's _sitcom-styled_ conversation has scoldings coming his way.

  
Rhys' hands animate as well, as if his tone and choice of words alone aren't enough to carry him. "I just still can't believe it—as if I don't have my hands full already, my son has to get in trouble with Cops. And I can't be—ugh, I just _don't_ have time for it." Pieces of him become unclear, broken squares in an otherwise clean, high-quality sheet of blue hanging a little above the table. As disappointed as the father sounds, as much love as he has to give to his son, it doesn't bypass the latter that he's not actually here, _again_ , and not eating dinner in flesh-form, _again_. "I don't mean to sound...the _way_ _this is gonna make me sound_ , but running a company isn't easy."

  
Logan moves his eyes away from the hologram. He picks at his peas with his fork, "So don't do me any favors, then."

  
Rhys sighs. "Come on. Did you _really_ have to get arrested?"

  
"You weren't there. I told you what happened. I was trying to catch the robbers but I tripped and fell. The cops and you just came at a bad time and jumped to conclusions. I at least thought you'd be proud of me once you heard."

  
"What, that you tried to jump _two armed_ robbers?"

  
"I had the upper-hand, they didn't see me....until I tripped."

  
"Fletcher," Rhys says his name in a sigh, and on the blue sheet-like screen he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I was preparing for a meeting—a very important one."

  
"Don't worry, dad, I'm not surprised anymore." Logan was, long ago, when he was younger and only then being introduced to the concept of his father constantly being away physically and showing himself through scientific craft. And it was cool at first; Logan used to itch to tell of his dad who was like a _wizard who appeared to live in like another reality._ It sounds quite lame but mostly lonely to think back on now, several years later at the intuitive age of seventeen.

  
The second device that sits on the table in front of the second vacant chair lights up for more blue to rain and the face and shape of Handsome Jack to appear. He, like Rhys, is more heard than seen and yet they're always together as business partners, but the difference is that Jack has no body to show up in; he's like a ghost, a remnant of his past self created and saved by a passionate scientist, and then tweaked on here and there by Rhys to keep him within the space-ship. "Hey, Kid, Rhys got held up because of me. Alright? I was on his case about these blue-prints 'cause I knew the guys atthe meeting would wail on him for them."

  
Logan looks over in skepticism.

  
"I'm _serious_." Jack pushes. "I wouldn't even let him take a bathroom break until he got 'em finished, which would've been a lot sooner if he quit complainin'! But, hey, it's funny, Rhys, 'cause I remember this whole little set-up for us working together as _business_ partners to make Atlas 'safe and friendly' being your bright idea!"

  
Logan scoffs, shaking his head, "Anything within an _inch_ of _you_ can't be considered safe or friendly on _any level_."

"Exactly!" Jack already knows this from his reputation and with in-tact ideals on how companies like Atlas, Hyperion, Jakobs and Maliwan should be run. That's why he was such a great boss, he thinks, because he got things done that needed to be done and he took risks and made the big calls. Logan, if he could read minds, would disagree that shooting people out in to space over paranoid guesses of them being enemy-spies, or simply getting his coffee order wrong or something else as crazy, is how risks are taken and big calls are made; it seemed to nearly everyone more like the approach to being a loose-canon, unhinged, a sociopath. "Rhys! Rhyysss, Cupcake, if I'm running a company—"

" _Co_ -running." Rhys and Logan together correct him.

"Whatever. If I'm _involved_ in something, it can't be lame. Okay? Nononono, it's gotta project vision and show a lot of power."

Logan scoffs, holds his glass of soda and tips it to Jack's direction, "Wise words of a _murderer_. _Cheers_."

  
"Funny, kid. It's fine, we're cool, I can respect humor. On an unrelated note, I haven't air-locked anybody in a while."

   
"Jack, no." Rhys calls, sternly looking down at the second holograph. "And yes you have. Two guys: one from R&D and his brother from Pharmaceuticals."

  
"Oh yeah! Ol' 'Beavis and Butt-head'." Jack says as he remembers his nick-names for the duo and laughs over it, heading going back and hand slapping his knee. He laughs alone but shamelessly, like a mad man.

"A-Anyway," Rhys stiffly looks away and to his son, "Fletcher, I'll be gone all day tomorrow, meeting with potential partners and investors."

Logan nods once, "Okay." then goes back to poking around at his food. By now, he'll usually have left to go to his room and read comics until he fell asleep and the day restarted.

  
Rhys recoils a bit with a surprised expression. "That it? No 'good luck, dad' or 'have a safe trip, dad' or 'I'm gonna miss you'?"

"You'd only comeback and tell me that men make their own luck."

"Only 'cause...it's true." Rhys says. He straightens up in his chair and clears his throat. "Fletcher, you'll be fine." he hopes so more than he says so. He won't be there to watch over Logan through several monitors and screens, or keep the station's security up to date--that's typically Jack's job, more or less, which he either does great or half-assed and there's no guarantee which he'll feel like doing. Rhys looks over at the second screen and decides to officially instruct his partner anyway, "Jack, you keep an eye on him while I'm gone."

"I don't remember babysitting being a part of our arrangement, kiddo."

"I _mean it_." Rhys' tone leaves little to no room for negotiation, only crystal clarity understanding. "Any hair of his out of place, any skin scratched or bruised and you can forget about our _arrangement_."

Logan tries not to perk up too much at the mention of something secretive like that between them, but he can't help it. 

"Geez, alright! Yeah, yeah, I'll watch the twerp. I'll make sure he doesn't stick a knife in the toaster again."

Logan scowls "I did that, like, once, a million years ago when I was a kid!"

"Fletcher, Fletchy, Fletch, you're always gonna be a kid to your Uncle Jack."

Rhys says, "He still calls me kiddo, too."

"'Cause he's old."

"What's that? It's _cold_? It sure is. Hey, know where it's even colder? Space! Make sure you grab a jacket when you're out there."

"Jaaaack, no air-locking people!"

"Just to be clear, you said 'people'. Nothing about Claptraps and disembodied idiots, 'cause then, by the _definition_  they're not people anymore, they're just disembodied limbs. Disembodied limbs'll be floating about in space."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're confused about 'Logan' being called 'Fletcher' that'll be explained in a part to come, it _is_ intentional.


	9. firewatch au #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys is enjoying his lunch and the view, then the handsome man from the other night and his daughter show up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me figures this au should be its own, but I'm not going back now. And the rest of the aus aren't long enough to be independent stories, I think.
> 
> It's funny, this summer-time au being updated during winter irl.

**Day 27**

 

"So you know _I_ teach for a living, and we know Jack alternates between fatherhood and being an _asshole_. What about you, Man of Steel?"  


"The name says it all. I dodge bullets, save the day—the works. _Nah_ , I code for a multi-purpose company."

  
"Atlas, right? I've heard of it." She makes a disgruntled sound in the back of her throat. "Mm, yeah, stick with the super-hero story."

  
"I know," Rhys knows it's not the world's most interesting job, "But it pays well and I'm very good at it."

  
"Well...good. That's what counts."

  
"Yeah. We can't all be lucky enough to _love_ the job that we have but—"

  
"No, no— _yes_ to all the crap you just said," she means about being good in your career, how much easier it makes a hard life. "But I mean the money..."

  
"Oh, I get it. _Money 'counts'_."

  
"Huh. Wasn't even trying for a pun here." She blames her unintentional joke on Rhys, his incessant fire puns still ringing memorably in her ears. Now they're starting to feel like a second nature side-affect to being acquainted with him. "Okay. So you're satisfied with your job; it pays well and you're good at it. Then someone rich pays your boss to send you down here not even half a year in to your employment?"

  
"Exactly. The end." Rhys nods. He's currently not sitting around in his watch-tower. He's sitting on a nice, mountainous area, where the sun gleams off the right corners of hills and soaks back between the lush forest. It's not so bad, he thinks, for a planet filled with unimaginable terrors. Thinking back, he almost feels silly for kicking and screaming as he was forcefully seat-belted in to the shuttle that sent him down here.

  
And Fiona, his boss, isn't so bad. She was harsh and a bit skeptical of him in the beginning, betting on his pompous-looking clothes that he would either be eaten alive by a Skag or something, or just pack up and leave before nightfall. She's pretty much the same even now, but most of her digs at him are told through jokes, and speaking back and forth with her all this time has given Rhys a bit of a thicker skin against her words.

  
Dare Rhys say it but Fiona's...pleasant.

  
"And _that's it_? The end?" she asks.

  
"So far, but, you know, maybe if I'm bitten I'll become this, like...super, radioactive-affected hero. Put my Man of Steel title to good use."

  
"You dork!"

  
"Hey, if it can happen to Peter Parker then why not me? Unless Pandora experiences a convoluted storm that'll turn my body elastic or enable me to turn invisible. I'm not in space for that to happen but that would be cool!"

  
"Oh, you're _so_ a dork."

  
"Can I enjoy my lunch now _please_?"

  
"Alright, I'll be merciful. It's a nice afternoon."

  
Rhys looks up at the setting sun on the horizon. "...Yeah, it is." He tucks in to his sandwich after she hangs up, a small lunch made out of his portion of the ingredients in a supply box he hiked to earlier. It wasn't as close to his Watchtower as Fiona made it sound; she must've got laughs out of watching him sweat and crawl, and miss a giant Skag. The bright side is he saw nice flowers. He also found an abandoned patrol robot stuck in its prototype days and christened it 'Dumpy', for it's prepubescent ways of short-circuiting, its high, rusty voice, and lagging speed.  
  


There's something calm and amazing about sitting on a hill and eating a sandwich, with a miraculous, painting-like view. And it's quiet—not _eerily_ but _peacefully_ , like being up on the Avalon space station during late hours. Alright, yes, he was _totally_ against abandoning paperwork and coding to come down to Pandora—the planet most refer to as _Hell—_ in the beginning, but he likes to think he's mellowed over the days gone by. This experience has had breath-taking (as well as _heart-stopping_ ) moments and it's been kind of a treat.

  
Pandora is...yes, it's dangerous but it's different. It's like surviving on Pandora tells Rhys he can do more than code, and file paper-work, and be tech-support, and fix the copy-machine or the printer when some idiot spills coffee on it and then doesn't say thank you!

  
Bushes behind rustle, the wind blows and footsteps approach.

  
"Well, _hello_." a voice, deep with an amused tone, ambushes from behind.

  
Rhys jumps and the sandwich gets caught in his throat. He has to beat his chest a few times and catch his breath, pulling at the collar of his button-up shirt all the while (he all of a sudden shares Fiona's distaste with it). He looks back over his shoulder and there's a man wearing many layers over his stocky build and a--is... _is that a mask_? Of _a face_?! Rhys doesn't recognize he's full-on staring at this man until the guy says,

  
"Amazin' view, eh?"

  
"I wasn't—I swear, I wasn't staring or anything! You just surprised me!"

  
"Why not? I'm handsome enough. Haha! Nah, it's alright. How's it going? I'm Jack."

  
"Hi. I'm Rhys."

  
"What kinda name is that? Yer parents drunk off their heads when you were born?"

  
"No. My mom just—she thought it'd be cool to spell it different. She didn't consider that it might just give me grief through high-school."

  
"You poor sod." the man doesn't actually look nor sound sympathetic. "Guess it could've been worse."

  
"Oh, definitely. I could've been a Hugo or a Vasquez."

  
"Hugo...Vasquez...wait, why's that name ringing bells in my Goddamn ears?"

  
"I think he works for you, Sir."

  
"Must do." Jack shakes his head in defeat, unable to properly remember this lackey of his. " _But_ I think I'd remember seeing _you_ around my space station." Jack eyes the _red_ gleam along Rhys' cybernetic arm, which isn't _yellow_  like his Hyperion business theme. "You work for Dahl or Jakobs or something?"

"Atlas."

  
"Get outta here!" Jack exclaims in disbelief. "I used to wanna buy that place and make it better than what it is—or _isn't_. Small world."

  
"I guess..." Rhys shrugs. He can't really agree and talk ill of his employers, but he doesn't think bad of the company anyway. Atlas may not be as _all-the-rage_  as Hyperion—or as competitive as Vladaf—and he's not worked there that long but it's nice enough, very organised. At least for now, he feels like he belongs there. "You are why I'm here, actually. You talked to my employer and,next thing I know, they send me down here to help make sure Pandora's the way you want it to be, Sir. And my employer was too intimidated by you to refuse."

  
"Oh yeeeaah!" Jack drags it out like he all at once remembers the power he has over people. _A lot_ , Rhys figures as someone who doesn't know Jack well, _if he can effortlessly dispatch people to a dangerous planet while he just reaps the reward of a planet becoming civilized_. "And how's it going for you so far, Pumpkin?"

  
"The creatures of this planet are horrifying. I'm not a fan of heights but the view from my tower is nice so...can't complain much there. There's lots of air, too, which is good for the lungs. And you, Sir?"

  
"Listen, I'm old enough for you start calling me _daddy_ if I want but I'm not _ancient_. And, hey, I'm not really your boss so no more of this 'Sir' crap. You just answer to me when shit down here doesn't get done, capiche? Like I told you, I'm _Jack_. So call me that or call me _Handsome_. Or call me _Sexy_ , that's also fine with me. And by _fine_ I mean I'd really fricken' love it."

  
All of that leaves Rhys temporarily staggered, "...O-Okay, Jack."  
  


"Good boy." Jack commends the way someone would to a dog, making Rhys uncomfortable. "To answer your question about _moi_ , I'm awesome—thanks for asking. How can I not be? I get it, you'd think otherwise since I'm standing on the worst planet ever all 'cause my kid's hounding me for independence—why it has to be on friggin' Pandora, I don't have a _fucking clue_! This place is Hell. Wait, no, I bet actual Hell is full to it's ass so this is, like, the alternative or something."

  
Rhys has noticed by now that Jack tends to stray with his answers. And Rhys had only asked to be polite.

  
"—And, as if this planet doesn't _suck_ enough, there are these little shits who must _love_ me beating some Goddamn respect in to their skulls!" Jack raves on, thinking of the other night with the fire, and the teenagers, and throwing their things in a nearby lake. They threatened to sue and he told them it would be impossible to do _when they're dead_. "I say why make rules if people are gonna be inconsiderate assholes and ignore them? I also say don't be a dick to Handsome Jack unless you want a _one-way, non-refundable_ ticket to strangulation town. People must actually get off on that, I bet. I mean— _hello_ , I'm _Handsome_ Jack. Still, come on, you're being _strangled_. Ahh, what the heck? They love it, I love doing it. It's a win-win."

  
Rhys is now debating the higher threat level between Pandora and the Handsome Jack character ranting without a filter. Behind him again, a young girl emerges, pushing away branches in her path as she comes forward. She steps out in to perfect view, brushing out her dark, side pony-tale. Her blue eyes lay on Rhys for a moment, seemingly calculating him.

  
Then her eyes are on Jack, "I think your flirting broke his brain."  
  


" _Angel_ , Sweetie, don't be silly. His brain was broken _way_ before I came along. He works for _Atlas_."

  
"Not Hyperion?"

  
"Nope."

  
"Good for him."  
  


Jack gives a hard gaze to the girl while she circles around Rhys, looking him up and down. Rhys wonders how she can talk like this to Handsome Jack and not be told to shut up, or be pushed off this very hill and down a cliff. "By the way, thanks for leaving me back there." she sarcasms. "You're super strict on making sure I stay at your side twenty-four seven but you bailed on me." she stops circling, stands with her hands on her hips and faces Jack. "What the fuck, dad?"

   
Rhys realizes,  _'She's his daughter. That's how she can talk like this and not be killed'.  
_

"Uh, _language_." Jack says. "And it's your own fault. It wasn't break time."  
  


"There was something in my shoe."

  
"Aww. What? Was it a skag? Did an itty-bitty Spider-Ant try to claw off your foot?!"

  
Angel frowns wearily. "Okay, _I get it_. There's a lot worse to be mindful of our here. _I know_ , dad."

"A _whole lot-friggin_ '-worse. Angel, baby, you've gotta be careful on this shitty planet."

  
"Uh, language." she reprimands.  
  


"Don't even try that with me! Listen, _you_ wanted to come down here, breathe all this crappy air and make friends with the 'wildlife'. Why that's  _so much_ more to your tastes than our place back on Helios, with expensive flat screen tvs and views of the friggin' moon, I don't know!  
  


"You wouldn't understand unless you've been cooped up in your room for most of your life." Angel turns away from him before he can give an excuse. Nodding at Rhys, she asks. "Who's this?"  
  


"Oh. Errrr, he's, um...." Jack repeatedly snaps fingers, impatiently.

  
"Rhys." Rhys says.  
  


Jack presents a final click. "That's it, _he's Rhys_."

  
Rhys asks what he realized a while ago. "So _you're_ Hyperion's new President."  
  


"Yep. Hey, hey, wait, are you.... _no_. Nooo. Tell me, twinkle toes, you're not the guy from the other night, are you? The one wearing those bunny pyjamas?"  
  


"Uhh...they're _clouds_ , actually." Rhys blushes immediately the second Jack laughs outright.


End file.
